The right-hand man

“Aye?” she asked, not sure whether to trust him on that or not. Sol wasn’t terribly different than Nore overall, but…the luxury and beauty that came with summers and springs perhaps allowed men to be more…selfish, perhaps was the kind way of saying it. Detestable and irritating were closer to Hermia’s chosen words. “Th’ knights o’ th’ De Carta lands ma not agree wif ee. I thought t’was all glory an’ romances fer them. Honorable knights’re for th’ songs an’ ‘istory books.”

“I confess that others may not share the same attitude I do. I am sure the majority do, but there are always exceptions...” Alistair thought of Dane, and then of himself. He tried his hardest to act as honorable as he could, but there was a black mark in his own past he couldn’t erase no matter how much he wished. “Honor...honor is something to strive for everyday. Perhaps it is vain to call oneself honorable; only to say that one makes an effort to be such.”

His question gave Eira pause.  She couldn’t discuss her fears with the rangers.  There was nowhere safe she could discuss it.  Only Aric was truly trusted with her fears as Ammut had ears everywhere.  There was no denying that.  “I fear the nobility is also able to lose sight of that,” she told him.  “From where I stand the kingdom seems as safe as it can be, but perhaps the common folk have another opinion of what is happening.  Have you heard anything from the people that would be of importance to consider?”

There was a beat of a pause - Alistair was not skilled at reading people, but he was paying close attention and wondered if perhaps there was something she was not saying. His eyebrows furrowed the tiniest bit in concentration, but otherwise he kept a neutrally polite expression, tipping his head in acknowledgment of her statement. “The common folk, your Majesty, appear content enough. There has been little unusual activity from the fae and no notable crimes beyond the ordinary. Although, I must confess - I find such a lack of things to be concerned about worrisome in and of itself.”

She scrunched up her nose at the idea of a ranger giving something up…Knights tend to imbibe often in their free time, for all the coin and admirers they had. “I fish,” she answered, pressing her lips together before pushing forward, “D’rangers not…parade around on celebration days an’ give flowers t’ pretty girls?” she asked. “Th’ knights in Sol sometimes cannae even stand they get so drunk when they arena workin’.”

“Fishing? Quite the honorable pasttime, if a taxing one,” Alistair said honestly, gaining more respect for the readheaded woman. He blinked at her question, wondering what kind of knighthood worth their salt would possibly allow such behavior. “A ranger’s first duty is to Nore and its citizens, not to his or her own pleasure. I do not wish to pass judgment on any honorable warrior, but that behavior hardly seems fitting of the honor of knighthood.”

The Queen smiled, slightly surprised by the request but more than happy to grant it.  “Of course.  You have my full attention.  Do you have something to discuss?”

“Recruit, circle the perimeter once and see if all is well,” Alistair said to the ranger, who promptly followed the orders. He then turned to the Queen, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “Your Majesty, I wanted to inquire as to your opinion of the safety of the kingdom. It is easy for us rangers to sometimes lose sight of the grander picture.”

A small smile formed on the queen’s lips while she listened to him speak.  “No, you have not been in my way.  I hope he is training you well,” she told the recruit.  The Rangers were hardly Eira’s business, but she did try to know them as best as she could.

“I hope I am as well,” Alistair joked, though the only indication was a slight upturn of his lips. May the gods flay him if he ever acted less than professional in front of royalty. “While you are here, your Majesty, I wonder if it might be acceptable to ask but a moment of your time.”

“Now tha’ I believe.” She was completely ignorant of his past, or that of any of the rangers really. She simply thought he had simply grown up to become as adult as her sister. “O’ course I do,” she answers without a second thought. “Wha’s better after a day o’ work than comin’ ‘ome to hot sweet wine?”

“That does sound nice indeed,” Alistair acknowledged with a quiet smile. “Were it wise for a Ranger to do so, I might do the same. It’s understood that we’re to give up certain things in order to best serve the people.” He paused, cleared his throat. “So what work is it that keeps you so busy?”

“I encourage it,” she answered without hesitation. “I am walking back soon - shall we go together?” It felt awkward to say such a thing, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

“I find that quite an agreeable idea,” Alistair said. The two of them, he and Lavinia, worked beyond well together, but times like this seemed to be less than smooth. He didn’t mind, though. For a moment, he considered jesting with her, but he had never had that kind of relationship with Lavinia. “I am ready whenever you are.”

She furrowed her brow, leading to an unusually twisted expression of amusement and confusion both. Hermia was having a notably difficult time imagining Ranger Henry as a young boy – much less one with a sweet tooth. He seemed like one of those everything in moderation types, and she was quick to let him know. “Are ee tellin’ me even th’ serious knights o’ Nore still got wants fer sweets? I cannae imagine ee as nothin’ but a grown man what’s got ‘is life set.” She offered an unpretty but amused snort at the idea of him as anything but grown.

“I’m not the same person I was when I was a child. I haven’t partaken in sweets in...well, quite some time.” Alistair smiled, but some of the genuine amusemet had faded from his expression. It had been hard to enjoy any excess of food ever since the blizzard, and Alistair couldn’t help but remember it in bits and pieces, as he only ever remembered that time. “What about yourself? Are you one to indulge?”

She stood still a moment, considering, well aware of how terrible she was with words. Christopher was the people-person. He was the one who made friends, who held conversations. But Lavinia…she knew there was something that needed saying, but reaching for words was like reaching for water with nothing but her hands.

Awkwardly, too gruffly, she shook her head. “Apologize not for speaking your thoughts. From you, it is always welcome.”

Alistair dipped his head in acceptance; he knew that there wasn’t much he could say that Lavinia didn’t know - she was the friend he probably didn’t deserve but was beyond fortunate to have anyway.

“With your leave, might I head back to the Barn early? Perhaps some rest would do me well after all.”

She looked up at the voice – a man’s voice being unexpectedly reasonable – and she smirked at the sight. Ranger Henry. She liked him. Or, rather, distrusted him less than most men she had met in the kingdom. “Aye, bu’ I dinna ask wha’ was more practical,” she said, mocking him without malice “but wha’ wee lassies want. Shouldna a ranger know wha’s bein’ asked o’ ‘im?” She looked up with a smile of false innocence, all too ready to tease.

Alistair’s mouth twisted upwards, though he managed to keep a mostly straight face as he answered her. “Certainly, but small children are hardly at a stage to determine what is best for them. I am quite sure I would have eaten all sweets when I was a boy if I could have.”

When Eira rounded the corner, she heard someone speaking.  Once her eyes fell on them she smiled and arched her eyebrow ever so slightly.  “I do hope I wasn’t interrupting.”  The queen had been in a much better mood as of late.  Having her family back had certainly helped.

“Hardly, your Majesty,” Alistair said, dipping his head before looking over sharply at the Ranger recruit next to him to do the same. “We were just going over some of the finer details of this young man’s schedule. On the contrary, I hope we have not been in the way of either you or your family.”

“What do ee think?” Hermia asked the person beside her. “Do wee lassies want ‘eavy coats ‘r new booties fer their birthdays?” She held a baby-sized coat in her hands now, but she also held no experience with getting children proper gifts for the holidays. It had to be something special, and Hermia wanted to get the most special of items.

If she could only figure out what that was.

“A coat would be by far the more practical gift,” Alistair asked, unable to stop himself from offering his opinion. What good would he be if he couldn’t advice someone on practicality, his specialty?

There was a smile – a small one, but a real one – as soon as Alistair spoke. “I-I would be honored to, Sir,” she said. Accompanying a ranger – not just escorting him as a host but walking beside him? It sent her heart a-flutter. “M-my duties would be, um…w-well, in the bakery anyway.” She let her smile stay, even if it was bold for her. She was excited, and couldn’t help her joy.

The cold wind bit at his nose and every other exposed part of his skin, but Maeve’s smile, small as it was, warmed his heart and his spirit. “It is decided, then.” Alistair let the silence stretch for a little while as they walked - neither he nor Maeve were especially talkative people, and the words they did exchange seemed more meaningful for it. “Your offer is very kind. It seems that with the winter also came a reluctance for kindness such as you show.”

The nagging voice in Alistair’s head told him he was not one to talk, but he tried his best to ignore it.

Lavinia scoffed. Fair? “When have the gods ever given us what we see as fair?” She knew that the world suffered. That better people than she fell into Frey’s hands long before their time. That people who deserved to suffer remained free and healthy. She dropped her gaze, speaking solemnly and without chastising “We cannot change their wills any more than we can change our fates.

“You speak only truth, yet my heart aches against it.” Alistair wouldn’t admit it to anyone else apart from Christopher, and even he would try to find a way to make Alistair feel better. If Lavinia provided no comfort, she also provided no judgement, which was just as important. “But alas, it does no good to dwell on it. I apologize for bringing it up.”

“I welcome it,” she said, and her expression darkened. “His mother’s health has been failing further. I, too, worry for him.” She always did. He was the light in her life. Alistair grounded her, kept her sane and reassured, but Christopher was the one who brought her closest to smiling. She needed them both more than anything in the world. “Grief takes from the body as well as the soul. He would not show either one.”

“It is unfair,” Alistair said after a moment, looking at the ground. “Gods know Christopher is one of the best men around, and yet the fates give him a hand far more cruel than he deserves.” Not that he and Lavinia were free from it, but there was something about Christopher that they had no direct match to. “But that is supposing the gods are watching and the world cares about anybody at all.”

She brightened some, knowing there was something she could do to help. “Would, um….w-would you like to c-come to the Borgia, sir?” she offered, almost as if she was asking permission to invite him in to a public place. “T-there’s warmth, a-and ale that sits by the, um…t-the oven all day.” Hospitality suited her. She gave as much as she could, and this small thing would be the highlight of her day.

“I suppose there would be no harm in that,” Alistair admitted. He was to be relieved very shortly, and though he was no fan of drinking, hot ale sounded exactly like what he needed (wanted? Alistair wasn’t sure he knew the difference). “I would be honored if you’d accompany me, unless of course you have other duties to attend to.”

Isa had been walking around the outskirts of the marketplace, just killing time that should have been spent doing something far more important, when she spotted a glint in the snow. She paused, turning her head before kneeling down on the ground and picking it up to inspect such an object further. It looked like a pendant, something that belonged on the end of a fancy chain around a noble’s neck. She turned it over in her fingers, looking for a name or initials in an impression of some sort when she heard footsteps approached and she stood up, not taking her eyes off the object before calling out and asking.

“Excuse me! I don’t mean to bother you, but I was wondering if this was yours? I found it in the snow, and I can’t seem to make out the engraving.”

Alistair had just finished dealing with a situation regarding an unruly patron at one of the outer stalls of the market place. The whole ordeal had left him vaguely irritated, although the ranger appeared in no different a mood than usual except perhaps a quickness to his steps.

“Pardon me?” he asked, looking over at the girl who had spoken. She was examining something, some kind of glinting trinket that suggested something of actual value. “I own no such thing, but...” Alistair trailed off, squinting. He was surprised, to be honest, that she hadn’t run off with it immediately. It was what he expected of most of the people of the city. “Are you unable to read the letters or does it simply lack any?”