Private Tales A Weekend in the Country

[Cecilia Fyg]

Day 26

I met a fisherman along the creek and bartered a fish from him. Now that I've eaten the fish (bland and boney, but food is food) I'm not sure an entire gold coin was a fair trade, but I can't very well go back and demand we renegotiate. Still, I feel better and there weren't any worms, thank heaven, so I may actually sleep tonight. I asked the fisherman how close we were to the nearest town, and he said it was about half a day's walk to the west. I think I know which way that is, but I'll try to find a road so I can be sure. That can only speed up my travel.

If I can make it to town, then this whole gamble may well be worth the trouble. To be perfectly honest, I've had my doubts. The nights when it gets down to freezing or the rain runs into my blankets, it's almost worth it to turn myself back over to X. After all, it might be different this time. But then I remind myself that it may well be different - and worse! - and remember that even if I freeze solid or drown in the rain it is better to die a free woman, in control of my own fate, than to be subject to the cruel whims of petty men.

Listen to me, going on like some kind of revolutionary. Perhaps it is feeling so well-fed that has given me confidence. Perhaps it is hope that my wilderness trek will soon be at its end. But-

A snapping twig somewhere in the middle distance outside the makeshift lean-to Lia had created drew her attention from her journal. The fire, now in its embers and giving barely enough light to write, was not bright enough to see outside when she pushed open the flap and peered into the darkness. It was barely bright enough to cast flickering, dim shadows in the foliage. Leaves rustled - closer this time.

"Please be an animal," Lia muttered in silent prayer as her hands fumbled in her rucksack for her knife. It was better suited to skinning animals than killing them, but it was the best she had right now. "But not a bear. Please don't be a bear." Knife in hand, she turned back to the flap and pushed it open, then immediately regretted that action.

Two men stood on the opposite end of the clearing. One held a sword, the other's hands were on his hips, and he was surveying the clearing with interest. His eyebrows shot up when his eyes met Lia's. "Evening," he said. In the dim firelight, Lia could see that his face was marked by some kind of dark paint, drawing an intricate pattern on his cheeks and forehead.

Bandits, Lia realized. Her fingers tightened around her knife. "Evening," she responded, although her dry mouth rendered the greeting inaudible, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Good evening."

The leader craned his neck to look past her. "Are you... all alone out here?"

She shook her head. "My husband - he just went to get - water," Lia gestured vaguely towards the river with her free hand. As if on cue, there was the sound of rustling from behind her. "That will be him now," she said, hoping that whatever was making that noise would scare the bandits off before she had to face it.

The bandit raised his eyebrows. "Alone, then."

"No," Lia said patiently. "My - " She broke off when she was seized from behind. From the ragged bracers she saw on the man's wrists and the smell, she guessed this was another bandit - part of their team. Lia panicked, her voice caught in her throat as she struggled against the man who grabbed her. She struggled against the man, twisting and squirming and after a few moments she was able to snake out of his grasp and crawl away. "Help!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the trees in the clearing. Birds erupted from the trees, their rest disturbed by the woman's distress. "Help me!" she shouted, hoping against hope that she was within shouting distance of the fisherman or the town or someone, anyone, who would be able to help her.

The man who had grabbed her seized one of her ankles, then pulled her back and grabbed her other leg. Lia's free hand groped at the ground, her fingers digging into the moist earth as she struggled to find purchase, but without success. She changed tactics and hurled herself onto her back, swiping at the man with her small knife. She caught his arm and he howled in pain, the grip on her ankles relenting as he clapped a hand to his wounded arm. Lia panted, scrambling back on her hands before trying to clamber to her feet. "Help!" she screamed again, at this point hoping to cause the bandits to scamper in fear rather than expecting to be rescued by a passer-by.

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

Things were going well.

Relatively speaking, anyway.

The sun at his back. Clear air and freedom under your feet. Well, Renzo was actually riding a horse, so it wasn't so much his feet the freedom was under. But that didn't matter. There was literally nothing that could go wrong now. His old life was behind him. No more dad telling him what to do. No longer mother looking at him sadly.

Just him, his horse, the road in front of him.

It would be perf-

A chilling scream pierced his thought process. It was followed quickly by pleas of help. Renzo blinked. It seemed to come from the side of the road. Deeper in the forest. Which was horrible, because he couldn't very well guide his horse through all those trees.

He chewed on his lip. A nervous tick his father had tried to beat out of him, but without much success. Another scream and Renzo sighed.

Say what you want about him, but he wouldn't ignore a literal cry for help. He dismounted quickly, leading the horse away from the road. The last thing he needed was his horse getting stolen. Maybe this was a plot, after all. His sword, good steel, already rang out sharply as he brandished it from his sheath. He was careful, but made good time regardless. Those cries were distinctly feminine. Sure, he hadn't been expecting becoming a hero this quickly.

But.

When fate throws an opportunity in your path? You seized it. Yes! He moved fast, past the trees and then broke through into the clearing. The scene in front of him was pretty ... unambiguous.

A young woman.

Three men, in various states of filth, surrounding her.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were all of you!" His voice, high and sharp, cutting through the clearing. "Let go of her, at once, and you may yet leave with your lives."

His sword swishing like a fencing gesture.

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

Lia's head snapped to find a man emerging from the trees. He looked well-dressed and like he smelled a great deal better than any of these other thugs. Perhaps he was not there to rob and murder her, or worse. Hers was not the only attention that the man had captured. The three thugs turned in unison to see him, the comparatively less-threatening young woman apparently forgotten.

"Well, la-de-da," the leader said with a smirk as he finally brandished his sword, drawing it in what he hoped was a deliberate, menacing display of power. Probably stolen, Lia thought to herself as she observed the reasonably high quality of the blade pommel. It didn't look like the usual bandit trash or even the kind of quality-but-ugly steel used by respectable sell-swords. All, of course, based on Lia's limited experience with these sorts of things. "We've got ourselves a hero."

Lia's eyes switched from the leader to the newcomer, her eyes like a stormy sea. Her fingers tightened around the blade of her knife. She took the opportunity to scramble to her feet and brandished her knife defensively, stepping back from the encounter. Lia's eyes followed the swishing of the blade, and her brows furrowed in concern. Was this the motion of a man who knew his way around a blade, or just someone who wanted to look like he knew his way around a blade?

She'd soon find out; the leader and the uninjured bandit moved to engage the newcomer, while the injured bandit held back, trying to keep blood from erupting out of his maimed appendage. "Let's teach this man a lesson is minding his own business," the bandit leader said and attacked first, swinging his heavy blade at Renzo D'Agosta's shoulder level, while the other bandit moved to flank, driving his smaller, lighter sword towards the man's midsection from the other side.

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

"Oh, I wouldn't call myself a hero, friend." His tone filled with mirth, but those eyes tracked. Following along with the movements. "Just someone who is called upon by opportunity." Wasn't that what a hero would say, after all?

A true hero didn't call himself that.

Circumstances forced them into action.

By the time the bandit swung around to him? Renzo was already on the move. That was the trick. You kept moving, always. Never slowing down. And never allowing them to pin you down. Especially if you were fighting more than one. When the leader swung? He didn't answer with his own blade, instead side-stepping both of them in one move.

Renzo was not strong, but he was fast.

As the two bandits tried to make sense of the new situation, his blade already swished out to the left one. To quickly slice through knee.

They were barely armored.

"En garde!" He cried out. A joyous expression spreading through his visage.

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

Lia didn't know what the plan was when everyone started moving. Well, she could easily determine that the bandits' plan was to kill this newcomer, the sword-brandishing dandy, then to kill Lia herself and proceed to loot their corpses and be on their merry way. If they were smart, they would find themselves much enriched by what they would find in the linings of her jacket and belt and boots: jewels and coinage that she didn't feel comfortable carrying without being concealed. But what about this swashbuckler?

The answer came with the crunch of steel through bone as he moved through the ambush like a courtly dancer, and the resounding shriek of pain as the brigand's knee leg was separated from the knee down. Lia felt bile rise in her throat, the fishy aftertaste of her dinner repeating on her something fierce as blood bloomed like a fountain from both sides of the separation. The man's momentum carried the top half of his body and as his weight shifted to where his other leg should have been, he went down like a sack of potatoes. Lia turned, doubled over and retched.

The leader, shocked and enraged by the violence, twitched his blade and turned to face him again, bringing his blade up in a defensive position. "En garde?" he echoed, his voice incredulous. What was this, a bard's tale? Was this some kind of knight errant, escaped from a mannerly court somewhere? Whatever the case, he knew he was not dealing with any rank amateur. The boy knew how to swing a sword, all right. "Dunno what that means, mate, but if we're gonna go, let's go." He lofted his brows in invitation and advanced slowly, warily.

Renzo D'Agosta

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

His eyes crossed the flurry of blood and screams of pain.

Something in him shrunk.

It was that sudden resistance that was the worst of it. Always had been. Suddenly you weren't swinging a toy sword playing for soldier. You were cutting through meat and bone and gushing veins. There was nothing joyful about that, was there? Except that this was a performance. Fake it, until you made it. That's how he had managed to cope through all those years.

Play the dutiful son during the day. Play the daring rogue at night.

Part of neither in truth, but plenty fine at acting it out. "Don't you worry, fair maiden!" He called out as his eyes held the brigand's attention. "I will chop up this villain and then you will be safe." Another swish swish of his blade.

Oh, that might have looked amusing and frankly ridiculous one minute ago.

But now it was bleeding gore and blood. Now it seemed to get very fast. Especially with his buddy quietly crying while the life was flowing out of him.

"And deny you the pleasure of first strike? No, sirah, I shan't! The honor will be yours." Swish swish. The point almost magnetic as he danced around him. That smile growing brighter. Maybe it was the words, or the smile or something else, but the brigand had just about enough of it.

Or maybe it was his dying friend.

Either way- he didn't wait any longer, instead charging. Which is the worst thing you can do to a smiling man wielding a bloody sword, really.

But nobody ever claimed bandits to be overly smart.

He danced to the side. Except that this bandit was just a bit smarter than most. The blade cruelly whipping to the side in mid-swing. It was only through luck, panache or reflexes that Renzo didn't find himself gutted and slumping to the ground.

His own blade ran out lightning fast, deflecting it from his core. Instead it snapped through his sleeve, cutting into his arm. And there his own blade slammed straight through the bandit. Just underneath his sternum.

"Honor... lost." Renzo grunted in pain, as he kicked the leader away. Pulling the sword out in a sickening noise.

"Oh, dear, I seem to be bleeding..." Suddenly realizing the burning pain at his elbow.

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

By now, Lia thought that perhaps the fish had turned and what she was witnessing must be - had to be - some kind of fever dream brought on by the foodborne illness. Who was this man, all theatrics and sword-dancing? She straightened from her retching, pushing her long, straight hair behind her ears and wiping her lips with the back of her free hand. She rejoined the action just as her rescuer - she hoped - let the bandit leader run himself through on the former's blade. She watched as the taller man kicked the bandit chief back, causing the sword to come out the way it had gone in. Blood gurgled from his middle, then sprayed when the sword emerged from the bandit's torso.

This time, she didn't reach, though she put a hand to her mouth to stifle a groan. This was echoed by the third bandit, who grunted and then looked over at her. She returned his gaze dubiously, her eyebrows furrowing. "What are you looking at me for?" she demanded. "You probably want to get out of here before he decides to relieve you of a limb or two."

The third man, glancing down at his bleeding sword arm, seemed to decide that the odds weren't good enough to chance it. He turned and ran into the woods, leaving a trail of quivering ferns and branches in his wake until, after a moment, the only movement on the part of the bandits was the shallow breathing of the maimed bandit as he slowly entered unconsciousness from bloodloss.

Lia stood, staring blankly for a moment, then turned her attention to Renzo D'Agosta. "You - what?" She moved toward him, pausing for a moment to tuck her knife into its sheath on her belt, then held up her hands as if to show that she meant no harm. "I can help. Maybe." She went back to the lean-to and retrieved her bag, brought it back to the clearing where she set it down. "Take your jacket off." She knelt and began to dig through the bag until she found a clean cloth and her sewing kit. "Are you bleeding a lot?"

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

"Oh, yeah, you better run!" Exclaiming to the back of the fleeing man.

Not as much force in it now.

The adrenaline was already slowing. He could feel his hands shudder. It was taking all his focus to keep hold of the blade, instead of dropping it. Shoulders shivering too. Then realizing that the woman was looking at him concerned.

"What? Oh." Looking at his arm again, finally sheathing his blade after wiping it off. "Yeah... not... not that badly, I don't think. I'd appreciate some help, my fair ma-" Just about to start again. Until he blinked, looked at her a little bit closer and realized something.

"Wait, hold on. I know you."

Squinting there.

"Did we ... meet at a ball or something?" The bleeding wasn't doing his memory any favors. Neither was the adrenaline crash, but he was certain he had seen her somewhere. "Yeah... maybe a few years ago, up north at the ball over in..."

Hoping she'd fill it in, because he just couldn't scratch at the name right now.

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

Fair maiden.

It wasn't the first time he had said that to her. As a widow, it wasn't exactly true that she was a maiden but she was gratified that she was still fair, despite the rough living she had encountered in the last several weeks. She hadn't seen a looking glass since her escape from the castle, so she had no way to be sure. Still - more pressing matters were at hand. She helped him take his jacket off and rolled up his shirt sleeve. "It's not deep," she informed him after examining the cut.

She wasn't following along at first to what he was saying, and she hadn't spent a lot of time studying his face when he was butchering her attackers. "No, I don't think so," she said absentmindedly as she examined his wound. As she wound the clean cloth around his arm, her gaze flicked up to his face. "Oh," she said quietly.

There was something familiar about this man, but she couldn't place it. He mentioned a ball, in the north. Well, north of here was plenty of Allir. Aleseberg was somewhere north of here, too, and she had spent many a pleasant evening in neighboring counties, attending dinners or balls or festivals or fairs. Her fingers smoothed the fabric around his arm and began to tie it tightly. Then it came to her and she looked up at him again. "Of course. You're... oh, isn't that terrible?" she searched her memory, scratching her forehead with one hand. "Lord Torenbury's boy? No - that's not it - I'm sorry, it's been a rough couple of days. I'm Cecilia Fyg, if that helps."

She finished tying the wrap snugly around his wounded elbow. "Thank you for your help," she said, straightening up. "You will want to have that looked at," she gestured to his elbow. "It didn't look like there was anything in there, but... can't be too careful."

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

"Oh, that's a relief. I am kinda used to having two arms you know."

Very light tone, but now she was holding his arm. She could feel the slight tremble there. He was holding it in, but Renzo had just killed two men. Well. Killed one outright, the other one slowly dying beside them. Even made it look easy because honestly it had been.

Too easy.

A man shouldn't expire that unceremoniously. Not even a bandit, right?

Laughing there. The fact that she didn't recognize him surprised him. Renzo was used to being recognized. The count's second son. Sure, it wasn't the heir, but still. "No, no. Lorenzo D'Agosta, at your service." He finally said with a smile and a sketched bow.

Or tried to bow anyway.

Her trying to fix up his elbow was making that a bit more difficult.

"Ah, yes, I think we shared a dance or two." Once more he chuckled. If one thing was clear, it's that Renzo enjoyed to laugh. Nothing would stop him from that. Not even squirming and trying to ignore the burning sensation of his arm.

"Perhaps I am just less noticeable than I figured I was. So, what are you doing here, Lady Fyg? It is a long way from home for you."

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

She looked abashed but nodded as if she had just had a very simple question answered for her. "Of course - of course. D'Agosta, I remember now. As I say, it has not been the most straightforward of times." The bandit to their left made a gurgling noise and his head tilted to an unnatural angle. Lia felt like he was staring at her, lifeless green eyes gazing at her in silent condemnation. She frowned and picked up Renzo's jacket, carefully brushing dirt and detritus off the rich fabric, but she didn't put it back on him yet. Instead, she folded it over her arm and looked to one side, eyebrows knitting together in thought.

She remembered Lorenzo as a jovial, pleasant dance partner. Not enough information to know whether he would keep her secret if he ever made it up Aleseberg-way. On the other hand, he had just risked his life to keep her from being robbed and murdered and god only knew what else. "It's a long story," she told him after she realized he hadn't answered his question and it was now a few moments later. "I was married. Almost four years ago, by now. He passed away and my brother sent instructions that I needed to go to another strange city and marry another strange man. That wasn't... something I was prepared to endure," she said.

As if realizing that she was holding his jacket, she gasped softly and unfolded it, then draped it across his shoulders to avoid having to bend his arm to put it on. "So I left," she continued. "I'm not sure what they think happened to me, but I'm not especially interested in finding out. I would be obliged if you were to maintain my confidence in this manner if you ever make it back to Aleseburg." She crouched down again and repacked her bag, then stood up and slung it over her shoulder.

"Speaking of which," she said. "Do you have any idea where we are? I think somewhere northwest of Greybrook, but it's been a few days. I've been trying to stay off the roads. To avoid brigands, if you can tolerate the irony," she said with a sigh, closing her eyes to disguise the eyeroll.

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

His eyes going to the coat.

It didn't seem like she was giving it back right away. This made his hands itch a little. It was good fabric, a nice cut ... and utterly ruined, honestly, but right now Renzo didn't have a lot of room to complain. Not like a few days ago that he could just whine to his personal clothier. Oh, he missed that already. Everything being served up on platters.

"Married ... you?" Blinking there himself and then suddenly nodding slowly. "Yes... yes, your father passed away, didn't he?"

This had trickled down to their court as well. If Renzo remembered correctly his father had gone to the funeral. He stayed behind, of course. Valiantly looking after the household. After the wine cellar, anyway. "Well, no, that doesn't sound pleasant at all." Acknowledging that with a nod. "Honestly, if I had been you, I would have vaulted through a window at the first marriage."

A shrug there.

Not everyone had his infamous courage then. The fact that women had far less leeway than even a second son was lost to him.

"Oh, of course. Your secret is safe with me." Making a gesture of locked lips there. Finally the coat around his shoulders again. Palms stopped itching. If only just. "Here in fact- a secret of my own. I ran off myself. Father wanted me to join the military academy."

Eyebrows raised up in outrage there.

"Me! I say. Can you imagine? Apparently they expect the cadets to wake up, before sun up." Sadly shaking his head Renzo sighed, dusting off his sleeve from imaginary dust. "Mm, no, northeast of Greybook, I reckon, but close enough, no?"

Again that jovial smile as refocused on her once more.

"I have a horse, if you need a ride. I have no idea where I am heading yet myself. Greybook sounds as good as anything, if it has a tavern."

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

"Why didn't I think of that?" she asked rhetorically at Renzo's suggestion that he would have availed himself of the window if he had been confronted with a marriage. She set about gathering her things, packing her bag, carefully and methodically, like a puzzle so that each piece fit in her bag just right. It was minute, pedestrian. As if nothing had happened.

As if there weren't two dead men within arm's reach.

As if there wasn't blood drying on her dagger.

A violent shiver shook her delicate frame, and she paused her efforts, hugging herself and letting her hands rub up and down her arms to warm herself. "We had no choice," she whispered to herself in a barely audible reminder.

Renzo was still speaking. He had a horse. Her feet throbbed painfully and she realized how tired she was from wandering. "A horse," she echoed. "Oh, thank the gods." She looked over her shoulder at Renzo, her eyebrows knitting together in unexpressed thought for a moment before she set about finishing to pack her incidentals. Was it the fact that she knew him that made her feel comfortable traveling alone with him? That couldn't be it; she knew her stepfather and her dead husband, and couldn't imagine wanting to travel down a hallway with either, let alone the rugged wilderness. Yet, here she was.

Lia straightened and slung the bag over her shoulder. "The first round is on me. Probably the second, too," she added, running her fingers through her hair to shake it loose. It fell in cascades back around her head and shoulders. "And we'll find a healer for that. Seriously, Lorenzo, if you hadn't happened by - I don't know what might have happened."

Actually, she had a pretty good idea of what would have happened.

"What are you doing all the way out here, anyway? This is the rear end of nowhere." She gestured with her free hand vaguely in the direction from whence he had miraculously appeared from the foliage, as if suggesting that she was ready to go.

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

"Sure we did." He said lightly as he looked around the clearing. His eyes resting on the dead. The tone stood in stark contrast to his eyes. Heavy, there. Like a burden had settled behind them. "Me? Could have just kept on riding my horse, ignoring your calls."

A stretch there.

"You? Could have just let them kill and rob you." Everyone always had a choice. "Our choice was survival. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

Still that light tone there. Even as his hands squeezed and unsqueezed. Nails biting into the soft of his palms there. A snort there, looking over his shoulder. "Don't think me too proud not to take ya up on it. I will happily drink ya money away." A wink there as they started through the grass. "Oh, we do know what would have happened, Lia."

His finger saluting there.

"It's why we are gonna stop feeling guilty about doing what we had to do, aye?"

As if it was that easy. Just forget about it, shove it down somewhere deep, where the sun didn't shine and that was that. "Oh, you know. Just wandering -- it's the first time I am actually free." Which was an exhilarating feeling.

Only slightly clouded by those murders.

"Free to do whatever I want. Wherever. No father hanging around, over my shoulder, complaining I am a lay-about. It's great..... mostly." Looking over his shoulder briefly. They couldn't see the corpses anymore. It still felt like they were watching him. Why was that? That was the least of his concern, apparently. They exited the bushes.

Just where Lorenzo had put his horse.

Renzo looked around. To the right. Left. Back to the right. Brows quizzical. "Oh, dear. I think the horse is gone."

Hands on his hips.

"What now?"

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

It was cold comfort to be reminded that the alternative to slaying two men - or having them slain on one's behalf - was being murdered or worse by them. Still, she supposed that the true choice had been theirs and not Cecilia's or Lorenzo's. She picked up the sword from the dead man's hand and unbuckled his belt, rummaging through his pockets. "Coins," she grunted, tossing the small bag to Renzo. "Consider it services rendered," she said as she cinched the belt around her trim waist. Even at its smallest belt-hole, the belt was too large for her, and when she tucked the sword into it, it dragged.

She adjusted, slinging it across her chest. The sword hung at a strange angle, but she tested it a few times, reaching across her body with her left hand to her right shoulder to draw the sword. Not perfect, but it would do.

Lia followed her rescuer back the way he had come, nearly running into him when he stopped to look for the horse. Her head followed his, swiveling right and left and back again. No horse. It was dry enough that no footprints had formed. She put her hands on her hips in a subconscious mirroring of Renzo D'Agosta, shaking her head, which caused her hair to catch on her sword. She was silent for a few moments. Damn, she thought. The horse was not necessary, but it would have been a treat to get off her feet for a spell.

"We take the road to town," she answered, her voice somewhat uncertain. "Don't you think?" She lifted a hand, pointing off to the left. "That way?"

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

"I ... suppose, yes?"

Not that that made him move. Instead he turned around, peering into the forest again. Almost as if willing for the horse to walk out there. This didn't happen, of course. "Damn, I liked that horse. And the saddle was perfectly shaped for my ass."

A sigh there.

It would take weeks of sitting to mold a new saddle into place. All the while? It just wouldn't be as comfortable as he wanted.

"Oh well, we will get a ... new ... one ...." Stopping there. "Crap. My purse was hanging off the saddle too." Oh, no and it had seemed like such a good idea back then. It was a heavy poach after all. Why carry that around everywhere? He was already on the horse as is. Just walk it over where necessary, right?! Crap, crap, crap, craaaaap.

That purse she had thrown him felt light as all damnation in his hand.

Grimacing at her, but then nodding. "Nothing else to do about it. Who knows where it is now." They could be wandering for days in the forest, trying to find it. Hell. Maybe they'd even encounter one of those bandits again.

Rather not.

Instead Renzo set his jaw .... and started walking in the direction of the town.

"No time like the present, Lia!" He shouted over his shoulder as he walked even faster.

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

Lia watched him take off at a brisk pace and frowned before moving to follow him. It wasn't fast enough; she caught a face-full of a branch when he moved past it, leaving an angry red welt across her cheek. Good to know chivalry isn't dead, she thought to herself with a smirk and quickened her pace to match his. She was positively jingling at the pace, the hidden treasures in the lining of her clothes now making its presence known in as they banged together, muffled only slightly by the fabric of her clothing.

She caught up to him, but her stride was not quite as long as his, so she had to be just that much more aggressive to stay with him.

"Where have you been?" she asked him after a few moments of companionable silence. Another beat, then: "I don't mean, like, where have you been -" this said in the tone of an impatient parent - "I just mean, what have you seen and done since I last saw you? It must have been almost five years by now, right? You know what I've been up to, at any rate."

Her feet ached with every step, and with every few meters she thought of something else she wanted to do when she got to the town. Book into an inn. Soak in a tub of hot water. Drink a bottle of wine. Sleep on a real bed. Buy new clothes.

She was surprised to find that 'talk to Renzo' was on her list of things to do. They hadn't spoken much when they had crossed paths before, that she could recall. Mostly it was a group setting, and when they had broken into pairs for dancing, the activity was so vigorous (and her corset so tight) as to render speech nearly impossible. Lia did remember him being amusing and gregarious, though, so that was something to look forward to.

Even if it did make him seem entirely too cheerful about having butchered two men in front of her.

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

An oh.

Which would indicate something to Cecilia. That, yes. He had been about to answer with that first assumption. Oh, just here and there you know. This village, that. You know how it is. Instead he blinked and glanced on over to her.

Oh, yes. He did hear the jingling of the things lined in her clothes. That was ... very smart. Why didn't Renzo think of that? Probably because it would have ruined his clothes.

And it would have been heavy.

"Well, mostly been trying to appease my dad, honestly." A shrug there. "You know my brother is gonna inherit. I am only the second son." Tone dripping with bemusement there. Definitely didn't care. "But father dearest still wants me useful. I suspect he wanted me to work under my brother, once he inherited." A shrug there, because that sounded positively distasteful to him.

Oh, his elder brother was a nice enough chap.

Serious, of course. Very serious. Knew his duties. Someone that made father proud. But that was just it though. He would have to actually work, rather than stroll around doing nothing.

"So, a little bit ago he revealed I was to be send to the military academy at the capital. Noooo thanks to that, you know?" A knowing glance to her. As if being sold off to like a cow to an elderly gent for a wife was just as bad as his potential fate.

"Anyway- I studied at day. Got stone drunk and reveled in the night. It was alright enough, until he tried to ship me off."

Shrugging again there.

As if he had already forgotten the lack of a heavy pouch in his pocket. It would seem to Lia that Renzo ... well. Didn't really know the concept of true worry.

"Anything interesting happen to you in between being married off?" Curious question there. "Can't all have been that bad, right? I am sure you had your fair share of nice balls." A grin there. "Maybe a few strapping gentlemen hiding away from your husband."

That grin spreading to his eyes.

Gossip, please.

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

Her hands swung loosely at her side through the conversation as they tramped along. "Sounds dreadful," she commiserated. Indeed, she couldn't say whether one fate was worse than another, for in the end both were put into the service of another. She stayed silent and listened to him, her eyes narrowing slightly when he asked about how she passed her time.

"It wasn't all bad," she confessed. Perhaps it was her empty stomach or the feeling of being run ragged. Perhaps it was the two corpses they left behind in that clearing. But there was certainly a thick gauze of nostalgia that clouded her mind's eye when she thought back to the days before her escape. "My husband was important in the county. Everyone looked up to him, so they looked up to me. We had interesting people attend our feasts and balls." She had a faraway look in her stormy grey-blue eyes, as if picturing the events in miniature.

Did it make her feeble, to miss the dresses and the jewelry, the gossip and the flirtation of her old life? She had loathed her husband, to be sure, and the feeling certainly seemed to be mutual while he was alive. But she had had company, and warm food, and good wine, and a soft, warm bed even if she'd had to share it with a loathsome man. She frowned thoughtfully and, after noting that she had fallen behind a little, once again increased her pace.

"There weren't any others. Not in that way," she insisted. "But there were flirtations and bawdy jokes told across a card table or during a dance." Lia smiled wanly. "There was a boy, back home, before I was sent here. But I wouldn't have known what to do with a man if I had one back then. But, since you seem to be trolling for gossip, perhaps turnabout is fair play. There was a rumor, after the last ball I attended, that Graziela La Fontana was caught in a pantry with one of the D'Agosta boys doing something they certainly shouldn't have - without the blessing of a priest, that is."

She glanced sidelong at him, her eyes more blue than grey now, a mischievous twinkle lighting them. "True or false? And was it you?"

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

A sad laugh there.

"Ahhh... a D'Agosta? La Fontana?" Sighing deeply there as they walked. Clearly readying himself for quite the tale indeed. "I wish. Really wish that was me. But no. That was my younger brother." Glancing at her. See if she believed the tale he was spinning. "It be his eyes, y'know? They warm any woman anywhere. Dun' matter what else, I could be twice as handsome. The moment he is around me? That's it."

Another shrug.

"He will win. And he did that time too. I danced and cradled and kissed, but the moment his eyes laid on hers? That was the end of that." A smirk there. "Luckily he is back in the county and I be here." Shaking off the wind gushing against them there.

His hand stroking the pommel of the sword.

"So no. False, sadly not me. Buuut." Leaning just an inch there. That smirk still there. "I can be just as charming, if you wish, m'Lady."

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

"Your younger brother always seemed a skinny little twig of a boy," Cecilia observed, her lips twitching up at the edges in a little smirk. "I find it difficult to imagine that he, rather than you - or god forbid your older brother - had more success with the ladies." They began ascending a hill, pushing against the wind that swept down against them. "I think he tried that eyes thing on me once or twice. I thought he was about to cry, honestly," she said, smirk turning to a smile.

"I've no doubt about that," she responded to his claim that he could be just as charming. "Probably more. How many damsels has your younger brother saved from certain doom?"

They crested the hill. The town was visible now, a collection of distant dark dots on top of a rounded hill on the horizon. The sun was hanging low over it, setting slowly. They had an hour or two more of daylight, she guessed. They would make it to the town before dark.

"Anyway, my older brother had Graziela La Fontana, so it's not like she was especially choosy." They began loping down the hill towards the plain, their pace quickened by the downward slope.

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

That elicited a laugh from him.

"It DOES look like he's about to cry in those moments!" Exclaimed there in agreement, but smirking back there. "But some women are into that kind of thing ... apparently? A tender and sensitive soul." That was something he never really understood, but maybe his soul was too snarky and sarcastic to get it.

"Oh, too many, far too many." Shaking his head sadly there.

Once they were on the top of the hill?

Renzo stopped briefly. Hands on his hips again and checking the view. "You know- it looks like nothing, but I can't wait to find a tavern there." He muttered lightly. "Definitely has nothing on the capital."

They started walking again, but Renzo almost tripped over his own feet at her last morsel of gossip. "Oh my lord, really? I remember your brother. Poor Graziela." Not exactly the heart of the party, her older brother... or maybe that was just his own bias speaking.

"I need a beer. Some food too, I'd die for a meat pie right about now." His stomach grumbled almost immediately after that. Which made him chuckle, petting it.

"Yes, yes, soon. So- once we are back in civilization, what's your next move? Keep on the run? Hide away from another crappy marriage?"

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

Lia was getting hungry, too, as she imagined what he was describing. A meat pie would be good. Or a slab of beef, cooked and spiced well, and some fresh bread. Her mouth was watering by now. Her stomach grumbled in agitation, too, which seemed off. Hadn't she eaten not long ago?

Oh - right.

The attack. The killing. The retching.

His question went to the quick of things. What was she going to do?

"Don't know," she responded as they started again ascending the hill towards the town. "I've got some money, but not enough to live on for the rest of my life. I'll need to find something to feed myself. I can't go home - not until life out here becomes more intolerable than life could be after being married off to some ghastly old, fat, cruel bully of a man." Lia sighed dejectedly. That made it seem rather a bleak and hopeless proposition.

"But I'll start with a bath," she answered. "Gods I hope they have rooms."

As it turns out, the gods answered her prayer. It couldn't be said that they didn't have a sense of humor. "You only have one room?" Lia echoed incredulously, her eyebrows furrowing.

"It's a double room!" the innkeeper said defensively.

"How much?" Lia demanded. They discussed the price for a few moments and then Lia forked over the coins and then took the key from the innkeeper. "If you promise to behave yourself you can stay in my room," Lia told Renzo quietly over her shoulder as they made their way towards the stairs. "Are you coming up now, or would you rather get your beer and pie now?"

 

[Renzo D'Agosta]

"A job- that's what you need." He said matter-of-factly with the tone of someone who had never worked before in his life. It was so self-assured, so certain. And so easily assumed it couldn't be any other way. It was true, of course. Jobs were something that happened to other people. Not to Renzo. Which was something that would have to change.

His pouch was gone, his horse.

Most of his fine tunics had been on that horse. How was he supposed to buy new ones without money? He couldn't very well walk around with one tunic, could he?

Sighing sadly there.

"Bath sounds amazing right about now." He murmurs, before his face lit up. "Oh, you know me, Cecilia, I am one and all good behavior." A smirk there that spoke of bad behavior ingrained. However? He had been polite (if foppish) this entire time.

No reason to believe that would change.

"Oh, no, no. I need to get a bath, before I can show my face to the general public." He declared lightly as he followed her up the stairs.

"I look like I have run for miles through a mudpool."

Which was a load of crap. Even with the tear in his tunic. He still looked like he just walked out of an upscale trendy neighborhood. One where he lived. Some people just had it made. They could be tired and exhausted. Bloody. Maybe even a little bruised. And yet, they had that air of excellence. Renzo might be an idiot, but he sure did know how to look like a hero.

Grin.

"And maybe a beauty nap." He murmured to himself as they came to the door. She unlocked it, he stroooode inside and took it all in. "Well... it's not the Boriouise on High Street in the capital, but it will do, I suppose."

Now where was that bath?

 

[Cecilia Fyg]

Lia had planned to have a bath first. This man had a bloody cheek. She was about to retort when they reached the door. As she put the key into the lock and jiggered it around to open it she considered that he had, after all, plunged headlong into unknown danger to help her. Perhaps he did deserve the bath first. She pushed the door open and followed Renzo in.

The room was on the large side, with an expansive bed against one wall flanked by two small tables. A massive fireplace was opposite, with wood and a kettle standing nearby and a wooden screen folded next to the fireplace. She assumed that was to screen off the area for people wanting to take a bath in privacy or to hang clothing from near the fire to dry. Lia would use it for both.

There was a chest of drawers - not that Lia had anything to put in it - and a wardrobe near the door, a pitcher with a few rough-hewn goblets, and two chairs around a small table. An alcove near a window held a basin, a chamberpot, and a large wooden tub for baths. "Nice," she commented in a neutral tone. "You'll probably need to ask for hot water from the innkeeper. While you do that, I'm going to go see what I can find in town. Then I'll come back for a bath."

The lady shrugged out of her dark jacket and carefully worked a finger into a gap in the jacket, then tugged the lining away from the leather, then pulled a small pouch of coins from within. That should be enough for incidentals. She hung her jacket on the hook behind the door and then retraced her steps.

Half an hour later, an indignant Cecilia Fyg burst back into the room, arms full of sundries, protruding from a rough burlap sack that was serving as a carry-all. "I don't believe it," she said indignantly to the room at large, paying no attention to where Renzo was or his state of undress (if any). "They stole it! They bloody stole it!"