Dryad Eyes, part 8
3824. x_x
There may be a ridiculous number of typos in this one, especially toward the end. I was rather ridiculously tired by the time I got it finished.
Had it not been for the bite of winter still in the air, it would have been a pleasant day at Keeper's Gateway. A layer of snow several inches thick still blanketed the fortress city, but the clouds that had carried it had, for the time being, moved on to the east. The sun beamed brightly at the people from overhead, teasing them with thoughts of the warmth they were trying to preserve as they donned their furs, wools, and heavy leathers.
Though the snow had been cleared from some of the busier streets, the one that Geran, wearing a hooded bearskin cloak and a thick blue jacket that he had had put away for the past several years, turned down was still fully covered and apparently undisturbed. This, he felt, was what he had been looking for. He believed that this was the alley in which his niece had been attacked. What he hoped to accomplish there, he could not say. Treyp had not been forthcoming with details. When he had gone to see her, she had seemed more than slightly out of it. Perhaps, then, her assailants had left something behind that would identify them. Alternatively, perhaps, they would magically fall out of the sky, landing upon his eager fists. Such an odd occurrence would have done much to improve his mood.
Sitting on his heels, he brushed the snow away from an object buried beneath it. It was a crossbow bolt, one of several that he had collected over the past two hours. He had spent a great deal of effort and concentration on finding, and following, that trail. Had it not been for Eyrenya's account of what had happened, as far as she knew, it would have been impossible.
"Fancy meeting you here."
The voice belonged to Scalthries, better known to their friends as Kurik. Geran was not entirely surprised. The man had often, in the decade and a half that he had known him, turned up when least expected. This was one of those times. Involuntarily, though he knew that it was as unlikely as the sun falling from the sky, he wondered if his old friend had been involved. Repulsed, he dismissed the idea.
"How did you find this place?" He asked.
"I am not without skills of my own, Fireface." Scalthries grinned. "I followed you."
"I must have been more preoccupied than I thought."
"Pshaw! Did you not know? I am a master of stealth! At night, I wear a silver mask and pretend to be Agani, leaping from rooftop to rooftop and saving damsels in distress."
"I'm sure." Geran grinned over his shoulder at his friend. "You may be the finest swordsman I have ever seen, but when it comes to anything else, you are about as graceful as a retarded slepy."
"You wound me." Scalthries mocked. "So... was this the place?"
"Yes."
Following that simple answer, silence reigned for a few moments between the two men. What else was there to say? As one, their thoughts turned toward Treyp, worrying, hoping, and toward the past. Their history was long. In their early teens, their fathers had sent each of them to the Northern Front, a modest but mighty fortress in the far north, where the border of Caltheria met that of Darat on the edge of the Sterak territories. The lord of that fortress, Olinor, had seen to their training in the arts of war and had become the mentor that both boys had sorely needed. They had not always been friends, over the years, but the bonds they had forged during that period in their lives had proven stronger than any petty differences. They were like brothers, just as Olinor had foreseen when they had gotten into a fistfight over a disagreement concerning a hideous old painting hung in one of the hallways leading to the boys' rooms.
Finally, never one to enjoy extended silences, Scalthries spoke. "Matthew has already been here."
"You think so?"
"I may not know him that well, but everything I do know about him says, 'Yes. Absolutely.'"
"Hnh." Geran pushed himself off his heels and stood up, casting his dark eyes down the length of the narrow street. "Well, if he was, he did not leave any footprints."
"He wouldn't. The boy is good."
"True enough."
"Besides," the swordsman added, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he moved alongside the bigger man, watching his face. "I think there is something going on between the two of them. I know I am not the only one that's noticed how often they were sneaking off..."
"Gah!" A thunderous scowl bloomed across Geran's forehead, and he shook his head emphatically. "You never did know when to leave well enough alone."
"Some things never change." The other man shrugged. "I can't help it, I live for the times when I can tease you about something that actually gets under that thick skin of yours. I had actually been waiting for your reaction, so that I could point out just exactly what you would have been doing at their age... "
"I figured." Shaking his head, the Battle King of Keeper's Gateway smiled. "Honestly, it is with that in mind that I have been trying to keep my nose out of it."
"Good deal." Indicating the crossbow bolt in his friend's hand, Scalthries changed the subject. "Learn anything?"
"Whoever did this was well armed, for a drunken lowlife."
"A drunk man wouldn't have been able to follow her so far, much less tag her with three bolts. Not if she's your niece."
"And a scumbag that was looking for an easy mark wouldn't have bothered to try. I know. I was trying to be... funny."
"Well, thats my job. You suck at it."
"True. Sorry."
"Don't be." Turning serious for a moment, Scalthries placed a hand on Geran's shoulder. In that moment, again, they were brothers, and an understanding passed between them. "When you find the men that did this, and whoever put them up to it, you come and find me before you do anything stupid. I want to be there for that."
"You have my word," the bigger man said solemnly. "Provided Matthew doesn't beat us to the punch."
"Heh! You better hurry."
------------------------
At that precise moment, in a small mess hall set aside for soldiers, Charis and Haron were taking seats across a small, wooden table from each other. Their meals were uniform, and unappetizing; bread, a bit of cheese, and a slice of meat of unspecified origins. To compliment this, they each had a small, tin cup full of water. It had been ages since either of them had taken a lunch in there. Haron customarily ate behind closed doors, usually in the company of Bawo and his closest advisors, since his promotion to officer. Charis, of course, had stopped eating there shortly after a certain number of names, innuendos, and rumors began reaching her ears, all originating from the man before her. It was only after she had refused to meet with him privately, in any library, study, or either of their chambers that they had agree that this might be the best place. It was also a small measure of revenge for her, as she took note of the discomfort he clearly felt at being surrounded, and eyed, by a large number of their peers.
"What's the matter, Haron?" She asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "Ashamed to be seen with the King's Whore?"
"No. You will not let that go, will you?" He sighed a bit disgustedly when she shook her head with steely eyes. "I don't blame you. In truth, I am simply worried about what they might say about you now. I would not want to be the cause of further damage to your good name."
"Bullshit. But it's a good line, so I'll pretend to believe it for now."
Shifting her focus down to her tray, she poked at the meat with her bent fork, then speared it and took a bite. It was far from the worst thing she had ever eaten. That, however, was not saying much at all. Haron went a little red in the face, but held his tongue. He had deserved that, even he had to admit. They passed nearly an hour in that manner. Here and there, they littered the silence with little quips. Mostly, they simply sat and suffered through a long, uncomfortable silence and tried to hold their tempers. She was almost ready to stop for the day and take her leave when, with a familiar smile, he began teasing her about eating with her left hand. In short order, they were both laughing as hard as they ever had. Ice broken, nostalgia set in, and their conversation veered back toward the days before, and during the Battle for Gateway, the good times they had shared, the bad, and the people they had known.
It was as if somebody had thrown a switch and the two of them had suddenly reverted to their old selves. Charis remembered this Haron well, and liked him. She did not love him, which had been the catalyst behind their falling out, but his friendship had been dear to her once. What was on his mind, she wondered? Did he truly wish to repair the rift between him? Did he simple want to try to get her into bed again, since whatever was between her and Geran seemed to be at a dead end? She did not know. She was afraid to speculate.
"Can I ask you something, without you getting angry?" Haron asked suddenly, following a brief lull in the conversation.
"I can't promise that. But you can ask and find out."
A smile touched the corners of his mouth, lifting his long mustache. "Very well. I know that you were terribly upset when you learned that Geran had lost his memory. Though I did not approach you, I saw you and the tears you were trying to hold back after you talked to him. What I was wondering is, have you spent much time with him since his recovery?"
"Okay, I'm angry." Charis glared at her maybe-former-maybe-not friend. "That is none of your business."
"My apologies." His reply was quick, spilling out of his mouth hot on the heels of her statement. "The man concerns me, is all. He is arguably the most powerful person in all the Free Kingdoms. I do not wish to see you hurt again. Or anyone else."
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
He did not immediately reply. Setting his attention on his tray and the remainder of his food, in much the same manner she had done at the beginning of their lunch, he seemed intent on simply letting the subject drop. She almost relented. They had been having a good time. If she pressed him for an answer, and ruined the bridge that they had just been building, would it really be worth it? Yes, she decided, it would be.
"Okay. Listen." Rising from her seat and placing her fists on the table, Charis leaned forward and looked Haron right in the eye. "You can speak up, or you can forget about what we were trying to do today. I will walk away right now, and you will not get another chance. Is that what you want?"
He locked eyes with her, and she saw him relent. Placing his utensils back on his tray, he wiped his mouth and asked her a simple question. "What do you know of dryads?"
"Not much." She answered after a moment, lowering herself back into her seat. "A lot of what I hear, especially when I went out for a drink last night, seems like superstitious nonsense. I mean, they can't be as bad as people make them seem."
His tone was grim. "You would be surprised. I grew up in Camelot, right near one of the largest Dryad settlements in the known world. People don't really realize how many of them are out there, in our forests, because they don't normally live in houses like we do. They sleep under the trees, and erect simple shelters when they need protection from the elements. I know that doesn't sound horrible, but trust me. I have seen plenty out of them that makes my skin crawl. They don't exactly eat babies, but... "
"Okay. I will have to take your word for it. So what do dryads have to do with anything?"
"As you well know, when Geran promoted me, I took over a large part of the management of this keep." He rubbed at his temple, as if the simple act of talking about his work was enough to induce a headache. Perhaps it was. "I won't bore you with the details, but I have reason to believe that Geran has some sort of secret arrangement with them. I just don't know what it is."
"Oh." She was uncertain. How should she feel about this? She did not know. Dryads were foreign to her, though from some accounts they had much in common with the women of the Lithuain tribe in Fyrendi. Try as she might to remain impartial, she feared that that would bias her against them. She did have a problem with the Lithuain, as did most of Fyrendi. "Well, I am sure that he knows what he is doing."
"Does he? Trust me, Charis, dryads are not to be trusted. Dealing with them is about as safe as sleeping with a poisonous snake under your pillow. Do you trust it to not bite you?"
"I trust Geran."
"Even so, he is not infallible." Haron countered. " Even the mighty Battle King of the Free Kingdoms makes mistakes. As his friend, and as his loyal officer, is it not our job to be there for him when he does?"
She stared at him, her silence speaking volumes.
------------------------
Charis' knuckles rapped again against the stout wooden door to Geran's rooms. Again, there was no answer. Frustrated, she leaned forward just far enough to rest her forehead against it. This was, without a doubt, the worst day she had had in recent memory. When Geran lost his memory, and made a pass at her, she had fled his company with all due haste. She had thrown the journal containing her life's story, written for his eyes alone, in one of the wagons that were used to haul garbage out and into the hills for burning, and had finally, for the first time in a long time, given some thought to moving on with her life. When his memories were restored, she had not known what to think, and so she had simply avoided him. Now here she was, standing outside his chamber door, needing to speak with him, and he was not even there.
Maybe, she thought bitterly, she could find him somewhere around the kitchens. It would not be the first time he had been caught kissing one of the serving girls in the pantry.
"Charis?"
She nearly jumped out of her skin, and spun around so quickly that she lost her balance and fell back against the door with a heavy thud. It was him. Geran was right there, just further than arms' reach away. As big as he was, it had always completely mystified her that he could move so quietly. She, like most people, liked to think that it was difficult for people to walk so close to her without her being aware. That he could do so so casually, and inadvertantly as he apologetic expression suggested, aggravated her. She wanted to slap him, but she did not.
"Oh." She said, feeling the fool. "There you are."
"Sorry about that. I was out in the city, looking into what happened to Treyp."
Suddenly, she felt less the fool and more the heel. So ready had she been to condemn him, it had not even occurred to her that he might have been taking an interest in that incident. Treyp was his niece, after all. "No, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, and I'm a bit jumpy. How is she?"
"Better. She is going to live."
"I'm glad."
"Me too." His smile was warm and genuine, and Charis felt the corners of her own mouth twitch in reponse. It felt as thought some part of her, deep inside, was thawing now that she could see that he, too, was better, and himself again.
"Will you come inside?"
"Okay."
Sliding to one side, she got out of the way as he produced an ornate key and pushed it into the lock on his door. That was not common within the Keep. Most doors could only be locked from the inside, usually by either a deadbolt or a wooden plank that prevented the door from being pulled open. Geran, however, valued his privacy a great deal, and had comissioned the lock shortly after the Great Battle had ended. She had, in fact, been the very first person to turn the key in it. Smiling as he pushed the door open, and she followed him inside.
"Give me a moment." He said as he untied his cloak, making his way through his main bedchamber to one of the four adjoining rooms. The doorways for these, covered with beaded curtains, were in each corner of the main room. Charis watched him go in silence, and then walked over to the southern wall that was dominated by an enormous window that provided one of the most breathtaking views available of Keeper's Gateway, the mountains, and the plains that stretched out beyond the furthest wall. Often, when she had been Geran's lover, she had dragged a chair over to the exact spot in which she presently stood and sat, gazing out over everything for hours on end.
"I asked Kella to prepare this for me while I was out." The aroma of fresh, hot tea tickled her nose, and she had heard him coming this time. She suspected, as she accepted a cup, that this was by design. "I enjoy it on these cold days."
"Who is Kella?"
"The maid."
"I see." She tried to quell the return of certain bitter, angry thoughts. It was not an easy task. "Geran, we need to talk."
"I was about to say the same thing," He agreed.
"Earlier today, I had lunch with Haron... "
"Haron?" Was that, perhaps, a glint of jealousy in his eyes? She wondered. "You and he are on speaking terms again?"
"Not exactly." Then, on impulse, she corrected herself. "Maybe. He told me some things, and I..."
"Charis." Placing his powerful hands on her shoulders, Geran turned her to face him. She noticed that he had set his tea down on a low table that sat under the window, and wondered if she should do the same. "I understand that you have something important to tell me, but may I go first? I do not want to talk about Haron just now."
"Okay."
"For several months, I was lost in a higher plane of existence. I was replaced here by a doppelganger. Some of the things he did, I am aware of. Some things I even remember. On other things, I have nothing." Seeing the unspoken question in his dark eyes, she nodded. She was aware of this. Arimus had filled her in after his memories had been recovered. This technically meant that he had never lost his memory at all, but it was difficult to remember that. The 'doppelganger' Geran mentioned was a far more perfect duplicate than the name implied.
"One of the things he did was retrieve a certain journal that you had thrown away."
"Wh-what?" Charis stammered. Suddenly, she understood the phrase 'blind panic' for the first time in her life. This was not supposed to happen; the journal was gone, destroyed. It could not return now to complicate things! Yet, it had, apparently.
"And you... you've read this journal?" She asked, hating with a passion the timidity in her voice.
"No." Geran seemed to want to smile, to comfort her, but he retained a serious expression. "I would like to read it, however. With your permission."
"God, I'm not ready for this." She looked away from him, her wet eyes seeking peace and solace in the view she had always enjoyed. For a long moment, she simply stood there, and then she drew in a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. "I don't know if I can say yes to that. I... we talked, a little, about my people, and I know you like to read. Do you know what the journal represents to the Fyrendi?"
"It is the story of your life, presented to the on you intend to marry."
"Is that what you want, Geran? Really? You have to be sure, because I can't do this anymore. I can't pull you close, just to have you pull away. I can't share these... intense moments with you... and then hear about your latest exploits with 'Kella,' your chambermaid! I love you so, so much, but do you love me? Because if you don't, if marriage isn't on your mind, then you need to spare me the heartache and give me that journal right now so that I can burn it and move on with my life!"
Her voice had risen steadily over the course of her little speech, and when she stopped talking, it was as if the entire room was stunned silent by the intensity of her feelings. Frankly, she had surprised herself with her own vehemence. Geran, for his part, seemed to take it in stride. It was as if he had expected this response, and even rejoiced in it. He was wearing a smile on his face; she did not know what to make of that, nor did she know quite what to think when he leaned in close and planted a kiss on her lips. Was that a yes? Her heart skipped a beat. She did not know what was about to happen, and she was terrified.
"Yes, Charis. Yes. A world of Yes. There is, however, one thing you should know."
"What...?"
"Kella is sixty-one years old, and has no teeth."
A wide grin split his bride-to-be's face, and she began to laugh. It was a deep, belly laugh, and she leaned against him, resting her head against his broad, strong chest. It felt good to laugh. Hell, she thought, it felt good to feel good! As her merriment subsided to giddy giggles, she raised up, wrapping her arms around his thick neck, and gave him a deep, long, wet kiss of her own. His mustache tickled her nose, and she drew back, giggling again as she covered her face.
"I love you."
"I love you."
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Oops! There goes the status quo. :D
There may be a ridiculous number of typos in this one, especially toward the end. I was rather ridiculously tired by the time I got it finished.
Had it not been for the bite of winter still in the air, it would have been a pleasant day at Keeper's Gateway. A layer of snow several inches thick still blanketed the fortress city, but the clouds that had carried it had, for the time being, moved on to the east. The sun beamed brightly at the people from overhead, teasing them with thoughts of the warmth they were trying to preserve as they donned their furs, wools, and heavy leathers.
Though the snow had been cleared from some of the busier streets, the one that Geran, wearing a hooded bearskin cloak and a thick blue jacket that he had had put away for the past several years, turned down was still fully covered and apparently undisturbed. This, he felt, was what he had been looking for. He believed that this was the alley in which his niece had been attacked. What he hoped to accomplish there, he could not say. Treyp had not been forthcoming with details. When he had gone to see her, she had seemed more than slightly out of it. Perhaps, then, her assailants had left something behind that would identify them. Alternatively, perhaps, they would magically fall out of the sky, landing upon his eager fists. Such an odd occurrence would have done much to improve his mood.
Sitting on his heels, he brushed the snow away from an object buried beneath it. It was a crossbow bolt, one of several that he had collected over the past two hours. He had spent a great deal of effort and concentration on finding, and following, that trail. Had it not been for Eyrenya's account of what had happened, as far as she knew, it would have been impossible.
"Fancy meeting you here."
The voice belonged to Scalthries, better known to their friends as Kurik. Geran was not entirely surprised. The man had often, in the decade and a half that he had known him, turned up when least expected. This was one of those times. Involuntarily, though he knew that it was as unlikely as the sun falling from the sky, he wondered if his old friend had been involved. Repulsed, he dismissed the idea.
"How did you find this place?" He asked.
"I am not without skills of my own, Fireface." Scalthries grinned. "I followed you."
"I must have been more preoccupied than I thought."
"Pshaw! Did you not know? I am a master of stealth! At night, I wear a silver mask and pretend to be Agani, leaping from rooftop to rooftop and saving damsels in distress."
"I'm sure." Geran grinned over his shoulder at his friend. "You may be the finest swordsman I have ever seen, but when it comes to anything else, you are about as graceful as a retarded slepy."
"You wound me." Scalthries mocked. "So... was this the place?"
"Yes."
Following that simple answer, silence reigned for a few moments between the two men. What else was there to say? As one, their thoughts turned toward Treyp, worrying, hoping, and toward the past. Their history was long. In their early teens, their fathers had sent each of them to the Northern Front, a modest but mighty fortress in the far north, where the border of Caltheria met that of Darat on the edge of the Sterak territories. The lord of that fortress, Olinor, had seen to their training in the arts of war and had become the mentor that both boys had sorely needed. They had not always been friends, over the years, but the bonds they had forged during that period in their lives had proven stronger than any petty differences. They were like brothers, just as Olinor had foreseen when they had gotten into a fistfight over a disagreement concerning a hideous old painting hung in one of the hallways leading to the boys' rooms.
Finally, never one to enjoy extended silences, Scalthries spoke. "Matthew has already been here."
"You think so?"
"I may not know him that well, but everything I do know about him says, 'Yes. Absolutely.'"
"Hnh." Geran pushed himself off his heels and stood up, casting his dark eyes down the length of the narrow street. "Well, if he was, he did not leave any footprints."
"He wouldn't. The boy is good."
"True enough."
"Besides," the swordsman added, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he moved alongside the bigger man, watching his face. "I think there is something going on between the two of them. I know I am not the only one that's noticed how often they were sneaking off..."
"Gah!" A thunderous scowl bloomed across Geran's forehead, and he shook his head emphatically. "You never did know when to leave well enough alone."
"Some things never change." The other man shrugged. "I can't help it, I live for the times when I can tease you about something that actually gets under that thick skin of yours. I had actually been waiting for your reaction, so that I could point out just exactly what you would have been doing at their age... "
"I figured." Shaking his head, the Battle King of Keeper's Gateway smiled. "Honestly, it is with that in mind that I have been trying to keep my nose out of it."
"Good deal." Indicating the crossbow bolt in his friend's hand, Scalthries changed the subject. "Learn anything?"
"Whoever did this was well armed, for a drunken lowlife."
"A drunk man wouldn't have been able to follow her so far, much less tag her with three bolts. Not if she's your niece."
"And a scumbag that was looking for an easy mark wouldn't have bothered to try. I know. I was trying to be... funny."
"Well, thats my job. You suck at it."
"True. Sorry."
"Don't be." Turning serious for a moment, Scalthries placed a hand on Geran's shoulder. In that moment, again, they were brothers, and an understanding passed between them. "When you find the men that did this, and whoever put them up to it, you come and find me before you do anything stupid. I want to be there for that."
"You have my word," the bigger man said solemnly. "Provided Matthew doesn't beat us to the punch."
"Heh! You better hurry."
------------------------
At that precise moment, in a small mess hall set aside for soldiers, Charis and Haron were taking seats across a small, wooden table from each other. Their meals were uniform, and unappetizing; bread, a bit of cheese, and a slice of meat of unspecified origins. To compliment this, they each had a small, tin cup full of water. It had been ages since either of them had taken a lunch in there. Haron customarily ate behind closed doors, usually in the company of Bawo and his closest advisors, since his promotion to officer. Charis, of course, had stopped eating there shortly after a certain number of names, innuendos, and rumors began reaching her ears, all originating from the man before her. It was only after she had refused to meet with him privately, in any library, study, or either of their chambers that they had agree that this might be the best place. It was also a small measure of revenge for her, as she took note of the discomfort he clearly felt at being surrounded, and eyed, by a large number of their peers.
"What's the matter, Haron?" She asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "Ashamed to be seen with the King's Whore?"
"No. You will not let that go, will you?" He sighed a bit disgustedly when she shook her head with steely eyes. "I don't blame you. In truth, I am simply worried about what they might say about you now. I would not want to be the cause of further damage to your good name."
"Bullshit. But it's a good line, so I'll pretend to believe it for now."
Shifting her focus down to her tray, she poked at the meat with her bent fork, then speared it and took a bite. It was far from the worst thing she had ever eaten. That, however, was not saying much at all. Haron went a little red in the face, but held his tongue. He had deserved that, even he had to admit. They passed nearly an hour in that manner. Here and there, they littered the silence with little quips. Mostly, they simply sat and suffered through a long, uncomfortable silence and tried to hold their tempers. She was almost ready to stop for the day and take her leave when, with a familiar smile, he began teasing her about eating with her left hand. In short order, they were both laughing as hard as they ever had. Ice broken, nostalgia set in, and their conversation veered back toward the days before, and during the Battle for Gateway, the good times they had shared, the bad, and the people they had known.
It was as if somebody had thrown a switch and the two of them had suddenly reverted to their old selves. Charis remembered this Haron well, and liked him. She did not love him, which had been the catalyst behind their falling out, but his friendship had been dear to her once. What was on his mind, she wondered? Did he truly wish to repair the rift between him? Did he simple want to try to get her into bed again, since whatever was between her and Geran seemed to be at a dead end? She did not know. She was afraid to speculate.
"Can I ask you something, without you getting angry?" Haron asked suddenly, following a brief lull in the conversation.
"I can't promise that. But you can ask and find out."
A smile touched the corners of his mouth, lifting his long mustache. "Very well. I know that you were terribly upset when you learned that Geran had lost his memory. Though I did not approach you, I saw you and the tears you were trying to hold back after you talked to him. What I was wondering is, have you spent much time with him since his recovery?"
"Okay, I'm angry." Charis glared at her maybe-former-maybe-not friend. "That is none of your business."
"My apologies." His reply was quick, spilling out of his mouth hot on the heels of her statement. "The man concerns me, is all. He is arguably the most powerful person in all the Free Kingdoms. I do not wish to see you hurt again. Or anyone else."
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
He did not immediately reply. Setting his attention on his tray and the remainder of his food, in much the same manner she had done at the beginning of their lunch, he seemed intent on simply letting the subject drop. She almost relented. They had been having a good time. If she pressed him for an answer, and ruined the bridge that they had just been building, would it really be worth it? Yes, she decided, it would be.
"Okay. Listen." Rising from her seat and placing her fists on the table, Charis leaned forward and looked Haron right in the eye. "You can speak up, or you can forget about what we were trying to do today. I will walk away right now, and you will not get another chance. Is that what you want?"
He locked eyes with her, and she saw him relent. Placing his utensils back on his tray, he wiped his mouth and asked her a simple question. "What do you know of dryads?"
"Not much." She answered after a moment, lowering herself back into her seat. "A lot of what I hear, especially when I went out for a drink last night, seems like superstitious nonsense. I mean, they can't be as bad as people make them seem."
His tone was grim. "You would be surprised. I grew up in Camelot, right near one of the largest Dryad settlements in the known world. People don't really realize how many of them are out there, in our forests, because they don't normally live in houses like we do. They sleep under the trees, and erect simple shelters when they need protection from the elements. I know that doesn't sound horrible, but trust me. I have seen plenty out of them that makes my skin crawl. They don't exactly eat babies, but... "
"Okay. I will have to take your word for it. So what do dryads have to do with anything?"
"As you well know, when Geran promoted me, I took over a large part of the management of this keep." He rubbed at his temple, as if the simple act of talking about his work was enough to induce a headache. Perhaps it was. "I won't bore you with the details, but I have reason to believe that Geran has some sort of secret arrangement with them. I just don't know what it is."
"Oh." She was uncertain. How should she feel about this? She did not know. Dryads were foreign to her, though from some accounts they had much in common with the women of the Lithuain tribe in Fyrendi. Try as she might to remain impartial, she feared that that would bias her against them. She did have a problem with the Lithuain, as did most of Fyrendi. "Well, I am sure that he knows what he is doing."
"Does he? Trust me, Charis, dryads are not to be trusted. Dealing with them is about as safe as sleeping with a poisonous snake under your pillow. Do you trust it to not bite you?"
"I trust Geran."
"Even so, he is not infallible." Haron countered. " Even the mighty Battle King of the Free Kingdoms makes mistakes. As his friend, and as his loyal officer, is it not our job to be there for him when he does?"
She stared at him, her silence speaking volumes.
------------------------
Charis' knuckles rapped again against the stout wooden door to Geran's rooms. Again, there was no answer. Frustrated, she leaned forward just far enough to rest her forehead against it. This was, without a doubt, the worst day she had had in recent memory. When Geran lost his memory, and made a pass at her, she had fled his company with all due haste. She had thrown the journal containing her life's story, written for his eyes alone, in one of the wagons that were used to haul garbage out and into the hills for burning, and had finally, for the first time in a long time, given some thought to moving on with her life. When his memories were restored, she had not known what to think, and so she had simply avoided him. Now here she was, standing outside his chamber door, needing to speak with him, and he was not even there.
Maybe, she thought bitterly, she could find him somewhere around the kitchens. It would not be the first time he had been caught kissing one of the serving girls in the pantry.
"Charis?"
She nearly jumped out of her skin, and spun around so quickly that she lost her balance and fell back against the door with a heavy thud. It was him. Geran was right there, just further than arms' reach away. As big as he was, it had always completely mystified her that he could move so quietly. She, like most people, liked to think that it was difficult for people to walk so close to her without her being aware. That he could do so so casually, and inadvertantly as he apologetic expression suggested, aggravated her. She wanted to slap him, but she did not.
"Oh." She said, feeling the fool. "There you are."
"Sorry about that. I was out in the city, looking into what happened to Treyp."
Suddenly, she felt less the fool and more the heel. So ready had she been to condemn him, it had not even occurred to her that he might have been taking an interest in that incident. Treyp was his niece, after all. "No, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, and I'm a bit jumpy. How is she?"
"Better. She is going to live."
"I'm glad."
"Me too." His smile was warm and genuine, and Charis felt the corners of her own mouth twitch in reponse. It felt as thought some part of her, deep inside, was thawing now that she could see that he, too, was better, and himself again.
"Will you come inside?"
"Okay."
Sliding to one side, she got out of the way as he produced an ornate key and pushed it into the lock on his door. That was not common within the Keep. Most doors could only be locked from the inside, usually by either a deadbolt or a wooden plank that prevented the door from being pulled open. Geran, however, valued his privacy a great deal, and had comissioned the lock shortly after the Great Battle had ended. She had, in fact, been the very first person to turn the key in it. Smiling as he pushed the door open, and she followed him inside.
"Give me a moment." He said as he untied his cloak, making his way through his main bedchamber to one of the four adjoining rooms. The doorways for these, covered with beaded curtains, were in each corner of the main room. Charis watched him go in silence, and then walked over to the southern wall that was dominated by an enormous window that provided one of the most breathtaking views available of Keeper's Gateway, the mountains, and the plains that stretched out beyond the furthest wall. Often, when she had been Geran's lover, she had dragged a chair over to the exact spot in which she presently stood and sat, gazing out over everything for hours on end.
"I asked Kella to prepare this for me while I was out." The aroma of fresh, hot tea tickled her nose, and she had heard him coming this time. She suspected, as she accepted a cup, that this was by design. "I enjoy it on these cold days."
"Who is Kella?"
"The maid."
"I see." She tried to quell the return of certain bitter, angry thoughts. It was not an easy task. "Geran, we need to talk."
"I was about to say the same thing," He agreed.
"Earlier today, I had lunch with Haron... "
"Haron?" Was that, perhaps, a glint of jealousy in his eyes? She wondered. "You and he are on speaking terms again?"
"Not exactly." Then, on impulse, she corrected herself. "Maybe. He told me some things, and I..."
"Charis." Placing his powerful hands on her shoulders, Geran turned her to face him. She noticed that he had set his tea down on a low table that sat under the window, and wondered if she should do the same. "I understand that you have something important to tell me, but may I go first? I do not want to talk about Haron just now."
"Okay."
"For several months, I was lost in a higher plane of existence. I was replaced here by a doppelganger. Some of the things he did, I am aware of. Some things I even remember. On other things, I have nothing." Seeing the unspoken question in his dark eyes, she nodded. She was aware of this. Arimus had filled her in after his memories had been recovered. This technically meant that he had never lost his memory at all, but it was difficult to remember that. The 'doppelganger' Geran mentioned was a far more perfect duplicate than the name implied.
"One of the things he did was retrieve a certain journal that you had thrown away."
"Wh-what?" Charis stammered. Suddenly, she understood the phrase 'blind panic' for the first time in her life. This was not supposed to happen; the journal was gone, destroyed. It could not return now to complicate things! Yet, it had, apparently.
"And you... you've read this journal?" She asked, hating with a passion the timidity in her voice.
"No." Geran seemed to want to smile, to comfort her, but he retained a serious expression. "I would like to read it, however. With your permission."
"God, I'm not ready for this." She looked away from him, her wet eyes seeking peace and solace in the view she had always enjoyed. For a long moment, she simply stood there, and then she drew in a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. "I don't know if I can say yes to that. I... we talked, a little, about my people, and I know you like to read. Do you know what the journal represents to the Fyrendi?"
"It is the story of your life, presented to the on you intend to marry."
"Is that what you want, Geran? Really? You have to be sure, because I can't do this anymore. I can't pull you close, just to have you pull away. I can't share these... intense moments with you... and then hear about your latest exploits with 'Kella,' your chambermaid! I love you so, so much, but do you love me? Because if you don't, if marriage isn't on your mind, then you need to spare me the heartache and give me that journal right now so that I can burn it and move on with my life!"
Her voice had risen steadily over the course of her little speech, and when she stopped talking, it was as if the entire room was stunned silent by the intensity of her feelings. Frankly, she had surprised herself with her own vehemence. Geran, for his part, seemed to take it in stride. It was as if he had expected this response, and even rejoiced in it. He was wearing a smile on his face; she did not know what to make of that, nor did she know quite what to think when he leaned in close and planted a kiss on her lips. Was that a yes? Her heart skipped a beat. She did not know what was about to happen, and she was terrified.
"Yes, Charis. Yes. A world of Yes. There is, however, one thing you should know."
"What...?"
"Kella is sixty-one years old, and has no teeth."
A wide grin split his bride-to-be's face, and she began to laugh. It was a deep, belly laugh, and she leaned against him, resting her head against his broad, strong chest. It felt good to laugh. Hell, she thought, it felt good to feel good! As her merriment subsided to giddy giggles, she raised up, wrapping her arms around his thick neck, and gave him a deep, long, wet kiss of her own. His mustache tickled her nose, and she drew back, giggling again as she covered her face.
"I love you."
"I love you."
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Oops! There goes the status quo. :D