March Madness - Day 3
Playful
âThere now, Ser Jory, that wasnât so bad, was it?â Alistair was saying as he lead the group of soon-to-be Wardens back through the stockade and into the royal camp.
âWe could have been killed,â Jory objected, earning himself a derisory look from Daveth, who seemed to have got over his terror of a pair of women in the wilds admirably fast.
Dermot walked behind them, lost in thought. There had been something in the way the old woman looked at him; a kind of respect, almost pitying, as though she knew something of his future that he could not possibly imagine at this point in time. And the younger, Morrigan ... He swallowed, feeling his ears burning. He hadnât ever met a lady who wore so little with so much confidence before. He hadnât known where to look, and he was sure she had been laughing at him. Still, it was unlikely he was ever going to see either of them again, so perhaps lingering on those memories served nothing.
âDermot!â
His head snapped up at the sound of that familiar voice, ignoring the suddenly on-guard attitude of his companions to let out a relieved whoop of his own and bolt forward, barrelling into the speedily advancing form of his little brother with a heavy thump. The two of them shared a laugh laced with relief and sadness, gripping tight for a long moment before stepping back. One look was all it took for Bryland to know that Elinar had not been wrong in her assessment of the situation.
âTrust you to go for the chance to be a hero,â the younger man declared, chuckling as he prodded his elder brotherâs side. âEllyâs green with envy.â
Dermotâs smile - so rare most times - had blossomed on seeing his little brother safe and well, on being certain that the two people he loved most in all the world were currently alive and hale, and would be looking out for one another in the days and weeks to come.
âWell, I couldnât let you take all the glory, could I?â he countered, squeezing Brylandâs shoulder a little harder than was entirely necessary.
There were so many words to say, so many condolences and heartaches and pains, and yet neither one of them would acknowledge that. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. If this was to be another parting, it would be done with warmth and smiles, and the hope that there would be a reunion in the times to come.
âWhat glory?â Bryland complained lightly. âLook at me - Iâm sitting here in safety because apparently Iâm not sensible enough to be trusted on a scouting mission.â
âHeâs not wrong,â Dermot said, the tease coming easily to his lips even as his smile faded from his face once more. That wasnât to say his eyes werenât smiling, though - his close siblings knew his expressions better than anyone.
Bryland snorted with laughter, slapping his brotherâs arm once again.
âIâll get you for that one,â he threatened, grinning as Dermot rolled his eyes.
âIâd like to see you try,â the elder countered, almost cheerful despite everything that had brought them here. âItâs not just me anymore, you know.â
âIâd heard.â Bryland glanced over Dermotâs shoulder, to where Alistair, Jory, and Daveth were watching this exchange with discernible surprise. He nudged his brother. âSo youâre going to be ... warden off evil, huh?â
Dermot closed his eyes, his lips twitching at the sound of Alistairâs sudden bark of laughter in response to Brylandâs truly terrible pun. He patted his little brother companionably.
âSay that again, and Iâll put you in your ... grey-ve.â
Bryland let out a guffaw of laughter, delighted to be teased back by his usually quiet and stern elder sibling. Dermot found himself smiling again, dismissing the ache that wanted to be shared. Now was not the time. Let Bryland remember him smiling and making terrible jokes. It was better than remembering him in sorrow.
