Helena knew that she was still young. That there was much left for her to learn, despite the short years that were given to mortals not graced with the long blood. Still, in her short life, she had learned much, and from many.
And in her short tenure as Captain, she had learned quickly how to better read the souls around her. One too many sharp stumbles when grace was required had been her instruction, as she recalled Valborast and Dal. But here, she felt the wisdom she had earned through such stumbles make connections she may have missed before, as she watched the quiet Faramund look up to the sky, his wet face and streaked with ribbons of clear fresh rain.
"Well," she said, and nudged him back, with a bump from her strong hips, and she grinned. "I once had a squire stare me square in the eye and ask," she took a moment to dullen her voice. "Is it true you've taken a dragon's heart?" She grinned, wicked and sharp.
"Then there was something about me riding a unicorn," she laughed. "Can only imagine what the context of that one was," she said rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "Some say I burn too hot. That I am cruel and unkind. That I am so bitter because I was jilted by a lover who long sense fled the order, in fear of my madness." she sighed, and shook her head, looking to the road ahead of them. To the Monastery that loomed large and proud upon its natural structure, and she smiled small as they went on with their walk through the rain.
"Many people will always look to the scandalous and the unsavory, as a means to make us small, or feel unworthy," she said coolly. "Do not make yourself smaller for them," she said as she looked to him, and stopped in the downpour. The heavy pitter patter of the rain did little to cool the warm certainty that burned behind her eyes, and she shift her hands to hold onto both of his.
She stood tall and sure and firm. "Do you hear me?" one of her hands traced up his strong arm, and cupped gently about his scruffy, square jawed face. She stared into his sorrowful eyes. "If you do not doubt me, then trust in what I see in you, Faramund," she said, and wrapped her arms around the man to hold him close, her head rest against his broad chest, ear pressed there to hear the pounding of his heart as she let out long breath.
"Now," she said with playful lilt of her voice. "They'll talk about how I embraced The Mund."
Drawn to a halt, the big knight turned to regard his companion, his expression puzzled. The lightness was gone from their conversation now, on up to the Monastery ahead of them. What remained was heavier, almost unwelcome. 'Helena,'Faramund began, raising a hand as if to stop whatever was coming. A foolish hope, that. In a blink, her hand was holding his captive.
Trapped, he listened as his friend spoke with a vehemence he couldn't help but admire.
So sure was she, Helena, Captain of Dawn, that Faramund found himself struck numb by her words.
Diverting his gaze so as to hide an ashamed frown, the knight was further wounded by the kindness that followed. A hand brushed the side of his jaw, held it firm as he tried to turn in on himself. Gentle, Faramund was unsure whether he should accept the gift Helena was offering him or turn it away. Torn, he closed his eyes so he didn't have to see what hid behind hers.
Her words, however, he was forced to endure. Sweet and pleasant and inspiring, they stirred a fire in Faramund that he knew would continue to burn long after they parted ways.
But still... still they rang of falsehood. Why? Why did she-...
Faramund's eyes opened as Helena hugged him tight, her head coming to rest against his chest. Caught in her embrace, there was little he could do but return it. Wrapping his arms around her, the dawnling tried to calm his racing heart. The winter drizzle continued to fall around them, silent and silver-grey beneath a sky turned sunless. Clearing his throat, Faramund attempted to rouse Helena from her fiery embrace.
In truth, he didn't try all that hard. He didn't want to.
'You know, Captain, you can be a real fool-arse sometimes,' he said, putting aside his inner demons for a moment in order to pay Helena what she was due. 'But it's nice to know I'm in good company.' Grinning, he lifted the Captain from her feet in a bear hug and spun her around. The ground was slick underfoot, and Faramund nearly slipped over as he lowered her back down.
Straightening up, he tipped his hood in recognition of his captain's efforts. A smile creased his features as he pressed on. 'Now they'll talk about how The Mund embraced his Captain, and not the other way 'round,' he laughed, meeting Helena's eyes. Mischief blazed in his own now; he didn't try to hide it. 'Creative as they can be, however, I don't give it long till they add to this little saga of ours,' he shrugged.
'Could always beat them to the punch,' Faramund suggested, all innocence. 'Tea?'
Helena was caught between shock and anger when the big man had put her down, but her expression smoothed over in a smile, and she shoved the big brute in the shoulder with an easy strength.
"Don't go getting too greedy now, Syr Mund," something flickered across her eyes, an unspoken warmth that went deeper than the smile that reached her eyes.
She had not expected him to be so bold.
She laughed, and gave an easy shrug as she walked past by the big knight. The warmth of his embrace still tingling trails across her figure. Was she smiling still as she stepped ahead? Her hood hid her well. A shield to the feeling she couldn't hide herself.
"Tea would be lovely, Faramund," she said, and walked on toward the Monastery.
Grinning like a drunkard after one too many pints, Faramund allowed himself to be driven back a step. Pretty as she was, it was easy for the big knight to underestimate the Captain's strength. She had the mind of a leader, and a suave way with words that could stir even the most timid of warriors. But she was a warrior herself. Tall and striking and capable of putting her own work in, when and where required.
Reminded of this, Faramund stepped aside in time to watch the Dawn Captain stride past. He had not missed the gleam in her eye nor did he mistake the purpose with which she moved. She was a leader, after all, and though the initiative had been his to take, she was the one to lead. Always.
Grinning still, Faramund offered silent thanks to the grey underbelly of the clouds far above. Somewhere up there, the Gods of Love and Luck, Laughter and Mischief were having a jolly good time of their own.
'After you,' he said, falling into step behind Helena, like a loyal puppy on his master's heels.
And lead she would. To a place most private, and sacred.
The Captain's Office.
Upon her desk were stacked high ledgers of records. Slotted neatly in honeycomb shelves, were missives and scrolls and reports a plenty. All related to actions of Dawn. All related to some pair in the field, or threat close to the Wylds.
"Have a seat, dear Mund," she said, and she smiled wolfishly as a hand motioned to the well upholstered chair that sat before her proud desk. "I will get us some tea," she said, with the hint of tease. She opened a hinged door to one of the large wooden cabinets in the corner, and pulled down a hefty stone work tea pot. Engraved upon it was a scene of old legends. Of the Ur Wolves and the Blue Sun.
The Captain's Office was not a place a Sworn wanted to find themselves in. Considered by many to be two of the most mysterious and sacred places in the Monastery, the Captains' Offices were where the real magic happened. According to the Knights-Pursuant, there were only two reasons a Brother-Sworn would ever end up there. To receive well-earned praise and perhaps a promotion... or to get a right proper bollocking.
Either outcome would have probably left Syr Faramund in tears.
'Have a seat, dear Mund,' Helena said, waving to the chair sat in front of her desk as she moved to open one of several cabinets. Out of the corner of his eye, Faramund saw a flash of a smile, but he pretended not to notice. Removing his sword belt, he leaned the darksteel blade against the desk before doing as instructed. The chair itself, a remarkably comfortable piece of furniture, creaked beneath him as he sat down.
This place ain't so bad, he thought, glancing around at the shelves and cabinets, a curious glimmer in his eye. He wondered, like some warriors were wont to do during the quiet moments, just how much history was packed into this one room. Decades, at least, though, Faramund had the sneaking suspicion it was closer to centuries. Several centuries, even.
A long time, that. A long time indeed.
So, too, was the wait that followed. Now that Helena had "gone to get some tea," Faramund felt alone, and not just in the immediate sense of the word. He felt alone, period. As if outside these four walls, the world had ceased to exist. He knew that wasn't the case, knew that Helena would soon return. The thought brought a smile to his face.
He wondered, as warriors were wont to do, what his Captain had planned for him. For the first time, he felt a shiver of anticipation run its way down his spine. Or was it a premonition? He frowned, for he did not know.
She returned, pleasant smile still worn upon her lips. She said nothing as she let the stone pot down upon her desk. She tidied some missives, a crisp tap set them straight, and she moved them to one side before she took a woolen mat from nearby and spread it across the old wood, set the teapot upon that.
"You know, Mund," she started as she set two cups before them. "One of the rumors that has been spreading across the monastery does give me worry," One cup was adorned with a wolf that howled at the moon. And upon the other was a proud stag. She placed the stag before Faramund, and sat back in her own chair, comfortable with the tea pot between them. She closed her eyes, and runes across the pot began to glow red. The stone hummed, and the runes seemed to burn white.
In short order, steam rose from the pot's spigot, and Helena let out cool breath to wear her smile once more. "That Brother Gylbert is a lousy teacher," she reached to the pots lid as its runes cooled back to stone, and she lift the lid from its structure. "And that is something I aim to improve in," she said, reaching under her desk to reveal a small clay jar. She opened the lid and a sweet delicate aroma filled the room.
With a small wooden spoon inside, she scooped out the dried leaves, and scooped them into the pot. Once, twice, and she closed the lid to let them steep.
Helena leaned back, comfortable, warm, inviting. "Why don't I teach you instead, Faramund?" she smiled genuinely. "We can have tea, talk... get to know each other more as you, well," she looked away and blushed for some reason. "Help me become a better Captain,"
'And here I thought we weren't to put much stock in such rumours,' came the big knight's reply, a smile spread across his features. Sitting back, his hands steepled against his chest, Faramund kept a steady eye on Helena as she prepared the tea. It had been close to an hour since they had taken flight from the Wyvern's Nest, and already they were back to where they had started.
The location was different, the décor more utilitarian... but the company was the same and that was all that mattered at the end of the day.
And what a day it was. Rain continued to fall outside, hammering against the office's windows to leave black streaks across the coloured glass. They had gotten lucky, it seemed to Faramund. The gale that had followed them to the Nest had waited for them to find shelter once more before making it's return. Small mercies, thought the knight, studying the porcelain cup Helena had placed on his side of the desk.
A stag to Helena's wolf. Symbolic? Faramund thought so, though, he happened to think a lot these days. Best not read too much into it, he mused, eyes alight as the stone's runes glowed red, then white. Subtle magic, it left the air around the teapot's spout steaming.
Lazy patterns, he watched as the steam clouds rose only to be claimed by the cool air surrounding them.
A fragrant smell rode in on their coattails. Despite being a frequent and welcome guest of Tanith's, it seemed the Captain had a stash of her own to dip into on rainy days. Smiling to himself, Faramund said, 'between you and me, I suspect that the real worry isn't that Brother Gylbert's a lousy teacher, rather that I am a lousy student.' Raising an eyebrow, Faramund listened as Helena continued.
Of course, had he known what was coming, he probably would have made a break for the door.
'You wish to teach me?!' he asked, genuinely concerned for his Captain's -or was it his own?- wellbeing. 'Me, Faramund, the man with a skull so thick it could bring down castle walls?' Sitting up, he focused on Helena as she looked away. There was colour to her cheeks, he noted, and her smile... well, her smile said it all, really.
Taking a moment to compose himself, Faramund settled down, a warm feeling in his chest.
'You don't need my help to become a better Captain, Helena. You're already well on your way to becoming the best damn Captain this Sanctum has ever known,' he chuckled. 'But I know you won't accept what I say as the truth. So, I suppose I will just have to convince you. And to do that, I shall have to spend time with you,' he paused, massaging his jaw thoughtfully.
His eyes shone bright as they met Helena's.
'I agree to this arrangement,' he said, flashing a sly smile. 'But then, I get the distinct feeling you already knew I would, crafty devil that you are.' Laughing, Faramund nodded, aye. 'Well played, Captain. Well played...'
Faramund was a quiet man. Helena had watched him. Those days he would spend amidst his Sworn Kin. Oft alone. Oft aside in the shade, watching those around. Always a hint of worry there. A hint of fear. As if he was ready to run at any moment.
She would look to him, and so many times their gaze would meet, and he would look away. Even when she caught him smiling, victory freshly earned in the training yard, his linen tunic sweat-stuck to his broad chest, and his skin bright with sun-kissed drops of perspiration. His eyes would find hers, and flit like a bird scared of what found it.
She blushed at the memory, and hid behind the work of pouring the tea. The deeply colored drink, amber at the edges, shifted to burnt sienna and deep umber at its core. Her pour was smooth and measured as she listened to him think aloud.
Had she wounded him? She could not help but wonder as he openly mocked himself.
She kept quiet. And his sweet words had her looking away as she let the teapot come to rest, two full cups upon the table.
"You give me too much credit, Faramund," she said with a girlish smile. "I..." she stopped, breath short in her chest and her face blushed. She nod. Maybe she had been more cunning than she thought. "I am very glad to hear you accept my offer," she looked at him in full.
Tender eyed, and raw with a warm joy that lived across ones chest. Her eyes looked down the lines of his face. The scars that hid amidst the scruff, the strong line of his jaw and chin. She smirked and looked away, took up her cup of tea, pursed her lips, and blew across its surface. Its savory sweetness swirled about.
She drank it in, as the rain pitter pattered gently against the window pane.
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