#bronkull

For the Green Knight: ➹ ➹ ➹

The dirt felt good in his hands as Beld tilled the fertile coastal soil of Athair's Gift. He'd been here for a few weeks now, feeling like his presence among what some would call 'the savage' races held add a calming nature to the residents. The knight should likely returned to the glades to speak with his Lord but he felt no urge to be drawn back just yet.

Dreamed of swinging a sword all my life and yet here I am back again with a trowel in the dirt.

A low whine would cause the knight to lift his head, a smile coming to his face seeing a giant of a 'man' crossing the field with a wolf by his side. The fur of the wolf matched the skin of his 'brother' as the dark eyes of the mag'har Bronkull locked with those of Beld's. A smile wasn't necessary from the face but the eyes spoke much more than words needed. The knight needed it for sure as the conflicting feelings for his present and past were fighting to figure out what this was becoming.

What the hell am I doing out here?

Rough was the hand that touched the back of Beld's neck, rubbing gently with the large fingers causing the green son to let out a sigh of relief. Dropping to one knee the orc spoke the thick common he had picked up from the time of arriving on the island from the west.

"Storm is coming," Bronkull rumbled as he released the tender neck, the touch lingering as he reached his hands now on his knees.

Beld looked up at the horizon above the sea to the further west of the Corlain coastline. His brown eyes would stare far and hard for a few moments as he saw that violet tinged stream of sky as the sun sank behind the waves. The green son's head would tilt softly as he watched the sunset and felt a growing dread build in his stomach.

Not sinking, but it feels like the light is drowning.

A shiver took him again as he reached over to help Bron to his feet, though the barbarian chief needed none of it except his firm touch. The two continued to watch the sun disappear until night finally took.

Water was poured at the handmade table, the gentle swish echoing in the quiet of the hut as Beldwin gently set the pitcher down between the brother and sister. The happy smile was still upon the knight's face as he pulled up a matching stool to the crude work of the table and sat across from his sister, Delilah.

The awkward silence filled the space. Hands cradling cups, short sips of cold water, and the awful tap of fingers to pottery to fill whatever had settled between them.

"So," Delilah finally spoke.

"So," Beld countered. Again the silence settled before the green son finally spoke. "I meant to write."

A hand was raised and a shake of the had given from the woman. "You're a grown man with a life beyond the Fall. You're not beholden to me or the others."

"Well, I suppose but you are my family."

"We are," Delilah spoke slowly as she let her eyes search the small hut. "Though this is not exactly what I expected to find you doing."

"Farming?"

Beld's sister gave him a very 'why are you being stupid' look that he was all too familiar with as he let his brown eyes drop to the cup in his hands. "Right. The Horde."

"THE Horde."

"I can explain."

"I'm all ears," as she gently slid her cup aside to fold her hands in front of her.

Beld swallowed and rotated his neck, suddenly very desperate to be talking about anything else. "They came here for a better life."

"I'm sure."

"And now with the War," Beld tried to continue as he spread his hands. "And the Alliance and the Horde and my new station and Athair and..."

"You're babbling."

Beld winced and took in a deep breath to release softly from his mouth. "I don't serve the Alliance anymore."

Eyebrows rose high as Delilah tilted her head at her brother. "You don't serve the Alliance anymore?"

"No, I don't."

"Then you've signed with the Waycrests here in Drustvar?"

Beld shook his head. "No."

"So you're a vagabond?"

"No!" Beld gaped at his sister. "No I serve something, something more. I am pledged to the land. To this land. Not to humans or orcs or whatever."

Beld swallowed and bowed his head to speak again. "I am sworn to this land. To these lands and all their peoples. All those that respect it, cherish, and wish to protect it."

"The Green Son," Delilah said calmly.

The knight blinked in surprise but gaped a minute before speaking. "I guess that's what they call me."

"You guess?"

"It is."

Delilah nodded very slowly again as she looked down at her cup. Licking her lips as she gently spoke. "And the orcs?"

"And trolls."

"And trolls."

Beld nodded softly. "They came here for a better life. They wanted to prove to the humans they meant only the best for Drustvar. These lands are in desperate need of caretakers as much as life."

"So many have died here, Del. The graves shouldn't outnumber the people," Beld soflty spoke again as he folded his hands in front of him. "It's not right. We both know that."

The two siblings stared at one another for a few moments as he said that, the younger of the two unsure of what to say next. A lifetime of hatred and fear could never be erased by a few short sentences. But neither could a love of two orphans of a war they were born into.

"Beld," Delilah began before there was a thud and swish of the tanned fur door to allow the huge figure to enter into the hut. Delilah gasped as she stood knocking her stool over as her hand whipped to the short sword at her side.

"Delilah stop!" Beld was already on his feet as well raising his hands as he looked from his sister and back to the creature behind him.

The mag'har orc stood tall, at near 8 feet for his broad shoulders and thick arms covered in the dark brown skin of his people. Dark shoulder length hair hung tied back by a series of leathers while eyes of bright gold peered between the pair. Decorated in scars, it spoke of a history of violence that only a warrior would know and his practiced stance only further communicated that. A deep rumble of a voice would speak with a hard, warmth that could easily bridge from violence to diplomacy.

"Heart, who is this?" The orc spoke to Beld and looked over him easily at the woman.

Bron swallowed and cleared his throat. "Bron, this is my sister Delilah Storm."

Delilah breathed heavily as she gripped the hilt of her sword looking up at Bron and back to her brother.

"Delilah, this is Bronkull of the Frostwolf Clan, chief of Athair's Gift."

The orc looked from Beld back to the woman before relaxing his frame and lifting a fist to his heart. "Throm-Ka, sister. Welcome to our home."