Not Exactly a Secret [Fanfic]
Title: Not Exactly a Secret
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: M
Characters: Rutger, Dieck, Clarine, Sue, Fir, Klein, Saul
Genre: Romance, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort (still not clear what that is as a genre, but it's prolly the closest to accurate I'll get)
Pairings: Rutger/Dieck
Summary: It's not exactly a secret that Rutger has some aggression to work through. It is a bit of a surprise that Dieck is interested in this. But as the first half year of the War Against Bern rolls on, the status quo they create begins to change.
Title: Not Exactly a Secret - Part 10
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: G
Characters: Rutger, Dieck, Oujay, Wendy, Sue, Shin, Thany, Clarine, Roy
Genre: Friendship, Romance, Introspection
Pairings: Rutger/Dieck
Summary: The light of morning can bring a lot of changes and new resolutions.
Previous Part (A Broken Castle) Next Part (The Village on the Western Shore)
Not Exactly a Secret: Part 10
When Lugh and Chad rushed into the room, holding another pile of clothes, Rutger took the line and his own clothes downstairs and outside. He should have probably stayed, and listened to the plans forming. He was a lone mercenary, after all. It was his responsibility to speak for himself in an army.
Still, it felt better to be out in the watery sunshine and the rain soaked air of the drying yard. This castle, despite its disrepair, had a good drying yard, facing south off the stables. Sunlight did its best to flood the yard, and the posts were tall enough so that even the largest wool blanket would hang far from the ground. Rutger strung up the line, admiring the way it cut the castle keep into two precise separate halves, if he stood back with his head at the right angle.
He was just hanging up his tattered surcoat, when he sensed another person behind him. Turning to look over his shoulder, he was surprised to see that Oujay was just standing quietly, looking at him. He hadn't been aware that Oujay could be quiet. Shy, filled with the kind of clumsiness that came with nerves, and given to saying everything that was passing through his mind was how Rutger would have described the Ostian free mercenary.
“Yes?”
“I, I was just wondering if the meeting had broken up yet.”
“Not that I know.”
“Why aren't you at the morning meeting, then?”
“I needed to get my clothes cleaned and repaired as soon as possible.”
“Oh. So, you're going back, then? I mean, Sir Barth said he'd speak for me. But you aren't attached to anyone.”
Rutger twitched his shirt so that it hung better on the line. He didn't like that Oujay had just spoken his own thoughts. He wanted to stay out here, in the fresh air and empty sunshine. “What they decide doesn't effect me.”
“I know that we're just common mercenaries,” Oujay said quietly, “but, maybe it matters?”
Finally turning from the laundry, Rutger raked his eyes over Oujay. “I don't know about you. I'm here to be pointed in one direction, and kill anyone who gets in my way.” Dieck had been right about that. He really was only good at grinding his way through enemies.
Oujay hung his head. “Okay.”
As he turned away, Rutger wondered if the pointless words had a point beyond filling empty air. After all, Chad's attempt to wrangle sword lessons had been preceded by trivial discussion of guard duty. He glared, to scare Oujay off, but as the young mercenary was already walking toward the gaping mouth of the castle entrance, this did not have any effect.
“Rutger?” Oujay looked over his shoulder, slowing down. “If it's not too much to ask, but what cause do you have? I mean, why do you fight?”
“I need to destroy Bern. Until then, I need to eat just the same as anyone,” Rutger pointed out, reluctantly coming nearer so he wasn't shouting across the yard. “This company allows me to do that.”
“Oh.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“No. Of course not,” Oujay's voice pitched into high nervousness and Rutger didn't know whether to be amused or irritated. “Sir Bors told me something. About fighters needing causes, and I don't really have anything like his determination to serve Ostia forever. I'm a mercenary, and there will be other jobs after this one, no matter how nice Lady Lilina is. I tried asking Captain Dieck, but he just said he wanted fame once, and now he's looking after other people like him. But I don't have anything like that, so, I was wondering-”
“I'm not a model for you,” Rutger cut him off. At least he hoped he wasn't. Nice as it would been to have more hope that the fight against Bern would not end if he did die, the world didn't need any more people like him, or that quiet evidence of destruction that confronted the children from Araphen.
“No. I guess not,” Oujay's mouth quirked upward, though his eyebrows remained furrowed in worry, leaving his whole expression rather like a puppy who had just done something wrong and was clinging to the hope that no one would notice. “Sorry for bothering you. Um, do you want me to come get you when the decision about our next plans gets announced?”
Rutger, sure that he could probably find out where the whole army was going without Oujay's interference, was about to say no, when Wendy popped her head around the door in a blaze of pink.
“Oujay! Oh, and Master Rutger, why are you out there? Come on, General Roy has something he wants to say to the whole army! Is anyone else around?”
Rutger let go of his fantasy of a quiet morning alone. Some things were unavoidable. He followed Oujay back into the keep, trying to linger just outside of the shadows of the entrance as long as possible. However, with Wendy leading the way at a brisk walk, looking around for people who might not have heard, lingering was not particularly on the table.
That was the problem with a growing army, Rutger thought. Even during the summer, there were few enough people that if the plans of the army changed, or great decisions were made, Marcus, Lance and Allen would run around and deliver the news. Even if Rutger managed to escape the knights, nothing could escape Merlinus' rumor mill. Now they were all gathering together like the good sheep of an organized army. The followers were now responsible for knowing their orders, rather than the leaders being responsible for relaying the orders.
However, when they made their way up to the common room, the palpable tension in the air made Rutger consider that just perhaps he had been a bit too harsh in
his internal grumbling. With the room now packed with people all trying various poses of nonchalance without the space to actually be nonchalant, that underlying current only served to put Rutger on his guard.
Roy cleared his throat. “As some of you know, this part of the Isles used to boast two major settlements beholden to this castle. When we arrived the castle had been taken over by bandits, as the Etrurian government had told us, so it made sense that the people of the villages were trying to escape the area before the bandits could set themselves up as new overlords.
“Yesterday, thanks to the work of Rutger, Sue and Shin, we were able to provide a corridor of safety for the fleeing villagers. However, as the villagers were leaving, they told Lady Sue some things that possibly change our mission in the Isles,” Roy frowned, looking more like an angry child than Rutger had ever seen him appear before. Nevertheless, his voice was calm as he continued, that stubborn frown the only clue as to what he actually thought of the whole affair.
“The Isles are overrun with bandits, so much so that the local serfs have had to organize a militia of sorts, which doesn't make much sense, when we know an eighth of the Etrurian army is already stationed here to protect the mines. But it has also been said that people here in the South without the protection of overlords are often getting pressed into working the mines in the north. That would mean the bandits would be making serfs and freemen here into slaves. Which shouldn't be able to get past the army officials who handle transport to the north, and keep the records of the convicts that are supposed to be getting sentenced to the mines. From what the villagers said to Sue, well, it sounds as though many members of the army, here in the south at least, are, are, well, using their authority to be bandits themselves.”
There was a gasp of shocked outrage that had a distinctly Clarine-ish sound to it. “You are mistaken! My brother is with the army here on the Isles, and he would never do a thing like that! You are insulting my family's-”
Roy tried to back up a step to ward against the force of feeling in Clarine's words. However, he was already using the desk shoved against the wall as his backdrop, and there was no where really to step back to. “I did not say all the forces here, Clarine! Just some. I am sure your brother is a man of honor. I simply worry, that the Etrurian crown does not really know what is going on here. They never told us about this, after all. We have to find out more.
“We could go to the mines directly. The largest jewel mine is on Mount Ebrakhm, where the Church has sent its representative. But passing to the north unnoticed by the military officers we suspect of being corrupted would be difficult.
“There are rumors of the militia gathering to the West of here. They probably have their own agenda, but we might be able to find out a lot from them. The problem is that talking with them might bring us again into open conflict with pieces of the Etrurian military that like the chaos of situation here as it stands.”
A low mumbling hum of chatter broke out. Rutger tried to listen with one ear as he searched the crowd for some sign of Dieck. He suspected that there would be an interesting twist of cynicism on the Etrurians mercenary's face. However, before he could spot green hair and weathered skin, Lott raised a hand, and stood.
“Um, just so you all know, Wade and I, we're from around here. Our village is just down the coastline to the west. We could probably find out a bunch from the locals. They'd trust us far more than any Etrurians. Not sure how we'd fare up north, however. Before the Etrurians came, there used to be a lot of blood feuds between the clans down here and up there in North Fibernia and Dia.”
Rutger could imagine. The main clans in Sacae had proven themselves the strongest through generations of warfare, stealing herds and women back and forth from one another. Even when peace reigned, or they entered neutral territory like the markets of Bulgar, average clansmen would not talk to the bearer of the wrong colors or patterns unless it was trivial, or need was so great that clan secrets had to be aired abroad.
“We need to decide fast,” Barth rumbled. “Either way, we have to be underway by tomorrow morning. We're giving you all until the sun reaches it's zenith to put in your opinions, and then we make a decision. One way or another.”
Predictably, the usual suspects-Clarine and Thany at the head of the opinionated-pushed forward. Rutger allowed himself to be moved closer to the fire as he sought out Dieck. It was easy enough to slip around the press of humanity, trying to count heads at the edges of the throng. He was far from the only one not terribly interested in raising his voice. Sue was slipping towards the hall closest to the stairs with a speed and subtlety that would have done a grass viper proud. Shin, standing silently next to Fir, hadn't even noticed his charge sliding away under his nose.
Rutger paused for a moment, wondering if he should tell Shin. He would have the petty enjoyment of proving that he was better at keeping track of the lady than her supposed bodyguard. However, the crux of that point was the pettiness of the proof. Trying to prove to Shin something utterly pointless had consigned his day to laundry duty and sewing, already. Besides, he had caught sight of Dieck rising from a seat near a tapestry that had probably once commemorated some long ago battle.
“No opinion for the lords?” Rutger asked, holding out a hand in case Dieck needed the leverage.
The captain snorted, grabbing Rutger's hand as he pulled himself upright. “You just missed my dust up with Marcus, didn't you? I think I've said enough to make my feelings clear.”
“Oh?”
“Nothing special. I just pointed out what we all knew: we'd been sent here in revenge for Etruria's involvement in the war with Bern, and they don't expect or want us to come back alive. Any nobles who we thought would give us shelter won't do any such thing, and the army is soon going to turn against us if we get caught talking to the villeins. Marcus was a little outraged when I used some rude terms to describe the whole situation.”
Rutger could imagine. Dieck's rude words had probably sounded like an attack on the honor of Roy, just as the comments about the army had sounded like an attack on the honor of Clarine's elder brother. “Just talking to Lott and Wade's people is going to look suspicious?”
“Of course,” that fleeting dark cynicism flashed in Dieck's eyes again. “You don't start examining the furniture until you want to find out who's been kicking it, do you?”
“What?”
For a moment, Dieck looked truly perplexed, as though he had just said something funny, and Rutger had not understood the joke. He shook his head. “It would look suspicious. Nobles don't normally care about serfs they don't own.”
Ah. The baffling lines of separation outside of Sacae were raising their heads again. Rutger supposed that he would have found it suspicious if, say, a group of Kutolah warriors stopped for a long chat with any of the caravans he had guarded in the long gone summers, but he would have been suspecting a raid on the caravan, after the hunting party learned the trade route. That was all in the context of being a guard, and knowing what young men thirsting to prove their daring were likely to do in the height of summer months.
There would have been no trouble if the caravan was in neutral territory, and the warriors were interested in knowing the herd patterns that tradesmen had spotted. Even high clansmen could speak to people without a clan, and it wouldn't indicate anything beyond the personal conversation being held.
“You know better how Etruria's nobles deal with each other,” Rutger began, shrugging. “I am just an outsider, after all. It's very different at home.”
“You've always been a freeman, too,” Dieck agreed easily. “It's different for people who have to serve. All it takes is one selfish master and everything goes bad.”
Rutger paused, wondering if he should ask. Many of Dieck's little hesitations and evasions seemed tied to the position he had once held in a noble house, and the rumors that had made him buy himself free, a concept Rutger still had trouble understanding when he really thought about it. On the river, Dieck had sounded wistful for the place he once had, but all of his cynicism came to the fore whenever discussing nobility and service.
“Was the lord you had before the one whose son you saved one of the selfish ones?”
In the evasive darting of Dieck's eyes, Rutger wondered if he had asked too much, or if his question had been too direct. Suddenly, Dieck reached out a hand again, tangling his fingers together with Rutger's. “Hey, let's get get out of here, if we're going to talk about heavy stuff.”
The conversation around them had been rising and falling, but whenever Clarine was trying to make a point, it rose to a level that would have needed yelling to surpass. Rutger wasn't averse to slipping away from the stone room and its fireplace, only to head toward the dark staircase leading to the ground floor. In the darker passageways of the keep, away from the rest of the army, it almost felt comfortable. He even found his thumb rubbing the hard knuckles and veined skin of the back of
Dieck's hand, and smiled to himself.
Dieck stopped uncertainly in the hall leading to the abandoned washroom. Voices filtered down from overhead, but there were only shadows and the faint smell of mildew to keep them company. It wasn't very good company, however, and Rutger tugged Dieck onward, back to the drying yard. “Outside. It's sunny for autumn.”
“Yeah, but you're wearing basically nothing. Won't you get cold?” Dieck protested, using possibly the most ridiculous argument in the history of ridiculous arguments to stay and chat with mold eating spiders.
“I'm wearing more than you are,” Rutger pointed out, feeling the weight of the double fold of blanket around his waist and rationalizing that it was probably more material than Dieck's pants and armor combined.
“Okay. Won't I get cold? Man, you've been trying to run outside all day.”
Rutger gave him a long look as they entered the sun filled yard. “Is it too cold for your sensitive self?”
Dieck mimed a smack at Rutger's head with his free hand. His rueful grin was enough to make up for it, however, and Rutger decided to forgive him when he pulled Rutger against his chest. “Don't be fresh, you jerk.”
“I have to worry about your flower-like condition, though,” Rutger smirked, pushing Dieck back against the dark stones of the keep.
For a moment they stood, hand in hand, drowning in silence. Rutger could feel the heat the stones soaked up from the sunshine licking at the fingers Dieck held. It was a little brisk out in the open, but surely against that wall, Dieck would be warm enough.
“So,” Dieck began, falling silent again, before looking away. “So. Hey, could you turn around?”
Rutger's eyebrows tangled into knots of confusion, but he complied, turning in a half circle, stilling when Dieck's hands lighted on his hips to stop him.
“Heh. Thanks,” like a familiar shepherd's crook, Dieck's arm looped around his stomach. “Sorry, your eyes get a little scary when you haven't had much sleep. I'd just rather talk about this without the nagging feeling you're planning to murder me.”
“You don't have to talk about it. I'm not your family or anything.”
Rutger tried very hard to stay relaxed, hoping the words distracted Dieck from the comment about lack of sleep. Dieck just meant that they had gotten to bed late. He was not talking about Rutger's waking up again in the middle of the night. Getting worked up while Dieck was actually holding him was going to raise questions. Forcefully, Rutger pushed himself back into the lazy embrace, daring Dieck to find any tension in his body.
“Mmph! Hey, careful, I don't want to eat your hair, you know,” Dieck gasped.
The complaint seemed a bit like too much protesting, given the way the embrace deepened even as Dieck puffed at the offending hair. Rutger just settled for closing his eyes and basking in the sunlight with someone who wanted to be in his company.
“So. Selfish lordlings. Not that I haven't seen my share, but my first lord wasn't really that bad, or anything. If you want the truth, I was a really bad bondsman. My father had given his bond, and the bond of the next seven generations to a nobleman who gave him protection from bandits and a farm of his own,” Dieck rested his unshaven chin on Rutger's shoulder. “He just didn't count on a son who didn't want to have anything to do with farming, and willful enough to run away to the big city in Reimi.
“If you live as a freeman for a year and a day, your bond is broken. I'd pick up an odd job for the day, and go to the fighting pits at night. Usually around harvest time, I'd be dragged back to my lord's land, whipped, and set in the stocks for a few days. After that, I'd pull in the harvest, and run away in the winter again. That was the rhythm of life.”
Dieck trailed off. When the silence ran longer than a natural pause in the story, Rutger opened his eyes. Yards away Sister Ellen was hanging other clothes on the line. If Rutger strained, he could hear a faint humming of a tune he refused to recognize. “Continue. She won't hear if you keep your voice low.”
“Always going to have it your way?” Dieck leaned in just enough to rub his sharp nose against Rutger's cheek. “Since I turned out to be a big strong boy, my lord didn't want to loose my labor. My father thought I would turn out to be a decent family man when I got the wildness out of me. Meanwhile I hated them both for not seeing there could be so much more to life than waiting on the wind and rain.
“After a while I started running further and further away, until I made it to Aquelia. I loved it there. I was finally free, and learned all sorts of terrible things while a crowd as wild as I was cheered for my death. But I don't know. I'd go home when autumn started ripening, hand over what was left of my winnings, and take my beating like a good bondsman.
“My lord wasn't an evil man. That's just the way things were. He owned me, and I was constantly causing him grief, except at harvest time. He took his duty to protect me seriously, even if he didn't exactly understand,” Dieck's chuckle was a quiet rumble that shook through Rutger, “that I had no problem whatsoever when one of his overseers tied me to a support post in the stable and thrashed me soundly. But he tried to protect me, and hold up his end of the bond as best he could. I thought I had lucked out.
“Then I met Lord Pent and his lady, and they took my bond. They treated me like some sort of son. One who just liked the things I liked, and that wasn't a problem to be grown out of. I wasn't someone who owed them fealty or anything, except on papers I couldn't read, and the whole world of service was fine, since I was finally doing something that I was good at.
“But it made me think, too. I wanted to serve them for the rest of my life, but only because they didn't take that service for granted. Anyone with lesser lords always has to be on the look out. One selfish lord, who thinks only of the service owed to them, and nothing of the person giving the service, can be a disaster. My lord wasn't evil, but he never thought of me, or tried to come to an arrangement where I could serve him in some way that did not depend on farming for the rest of my life. And he was a good lord, all things told. He never imprisoned me for running away so often. An annual bout in the stocks and that was all. Repeat violent drunks get longer sentences.”
Rutger felt the breath on his skin as Dieck sighed. The hands spanning his stomach clutched tightly for a moment, and then relaxed. “All in all, I can't complain much. But I still feel everyone caught in a bond should be wary. Is it really different in Sacae?”
“Yes,” Rutger wrapped his hands over Dieck's tangle of fingers, marveling at how easy this was even when they didn't begin with a sword fight or competition. “Though it might be different for tribesmen. They have their chiefs and councils to answer to. But at the trade areas, well, we have arbiters and the law of Sacae, which is harder in some ways. But no man will ever own another quite like that.”
“I've wanted to ask, what's the difference between being from Sacae and not being part of a tribe? I always thought all nomads were from some tribe or other. Then I met you, and Fir said she's not part of any tribe, either.”
“Oh? When did she tell you that?” Rutger tried to keep his voice light. “She didn't name the town she was from, did she?”
“Mm. It was when Sue and Shin came over to relieve Dorothy in the battle yesterday. Sue said you'd been nearly killed, and Fir asked if there was anything special they'd have to do if you died, since she didn't know anything about Sacae, and it obviously mattered to you a lot. Lectures on funeral rites in the middle of battle are really silly, don't you think?”
The fingers clenched tightly as Dieck's voice rolled from his chest to his throat, trying so hard to sound like a joke. Awareness of the priestess blissfully tying up washing on the line pressed on Rutger as plainly as the protective spread of Dieck's hands. But he didn't care if people found him biting and scratching Dieck in dark corners. He refused to care if he shocked some holy Bernian right now in the sunlight, as he craned his head around to kiss Dieck softly.
“I really do promise to dodge next time, if it makes you feel better.”
“Oh, tons,” Dieck agreed, his voice thick, ducking his head for another kiss. “You know, you need more people to worry about you. You're almost kind when you're feeling guilty about getting hurt.”
Rutger rolled his eyes, digging an elbow into Dieck's side. “I don't care about 'people.'”
“Mm,” Dieck smiled into his neck. “You know, I once thought you were shy when it came to anyone you couldn't kill in good conscience. No. It just turns out you're a jerk who hates people. Should I be worried that sometimes I still find it strangely cute?”
“Probably,” his skin prickled, and his stomach did a little back flip. “Shy. Hmm. Do you treat all your lovers to such honest opinions?”
“Only when they're jerks who need a little encouragement. As for shy, it's an easy mistake, I guess, when you don't talk.”
“I do talk.”
“Not much,” Dieck teased. “Admittedly, Shin
makes you look like a chatterbox, but you and Sue could be siblings.”
Rutger snorted at the absurdity of the idea. “She's a full blooded tribeswoman. If you hadn't noticed, I'm a mongrel who doesn't belong anywhere near real Kutolah warriors.”
For a moment every muscle in Dieck's body seemed to go tight against him. “Is that what the little archer boy said to you?”
The sound of the low growl made Rutger roll his eyes in exasperation, even as his fingers tightened possessively over Dieck's and a strange breed of affection curled down his spine. “No, he didn't. The people who said that sort of thing are dead. You can argue with their ghosts if you like.”
“He said something, though,” Dieck persisted.
“Do you think I'm a coward who can't handle a few words?”
This close, Rutger could hear Dieck's teeth grind together, but Dieck remained silent to the challenge. In some strange way, Rutger almost wished that Dieck would call him out for being a coward and expose him. Otherwise, he might grow used to the easy happiness and acceptance from Dieck. Worse, he might not be able to give it up when he needed to.
“I don't think you should have to handle them,” Dieck managed at last. “And you've been acting different since he arrived. What did he say?”
Rutger leaned back, trying not to see Sister Ellen, the paragon of virtue. “Shin thought I was Bernian. Which is true, so,” the sentence trailed off into the bright autumn sky.
Dieck buried his face in Rutger's shoulder for a minute, likely trying to hide the movements of his expressive mouth. “I don't know what to do with you half the time,” he murmured.
If you had any sense, Rutger thought, you would leave me alone. But that was not happening, and Rutger couldn't bring himself to change it.
“Um, M-Master Rutger?” Sister Ellen called, snapping Rutger out of his reverie. “I think your clothes are dry.”
Rutger sighed, and pushed himself away from the encircling arms. Dieck drifted back, his hands lingering a few breaths longer than necessary, but eventually dropping to his sides. “Oh!”
Rutger turned, to see the larger mercenary dig in his pocket. Dieck brought something out, and held it up to Rutger. It was the thread Rutger had asked for that morning. “Our favorite peddler even had a spool in red.”
Rutger shook his head in wonder, but took the offered gift. “Dieck. If we-Tonight will be just as cold and damp. If you wanted to sleep in my room, I don't mind.”
Dieck closed his hand over Rutger's with an open grin. “I'm going to be wishing for more drafty castles at this rate.”
If Rutger had his sword to hand, he would have nicked Dieck's ear for impudence. Since he did not, all Rutger could do was roll his eyes, and wave the mercenary off, while he went to grab his clothes. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dieck saunter away, probably to go back and put in more pieces of advice calculated to anger Sir Marcus. Or spread gossip that the deranged Sacaen mercenary was going soft, but Rutger didn't really believe that was Dieck's intent.
As he went to find his sword and kit once more, searching after the small packet of needles and leather working tools, rumor of the decision had already begun to circulate. Rutger found himself a cozy place in what had probably once been the lady of the keep's solar, and sat down to the process of repairing his clothing, without much consideration of tomorrow. Various knightly types ran past the doorway outside, probably trying to organize gear and equipment.
He concentrated on the careful stitches needed to repair his trousers first, given that the need for them was probably the most pressing. At least if Saul had anything to say about it, it was. But he had hardly closed up a thumb-length of the tear when he heard a sniff that distracted him. Glancing around at first, he didn't see anyone, but then the shadows of the wing off the central great room shifted in a person shaped patch.
Rutger struggled to stand, holding onto his blanket firmly. “Lady Sue.”
The lady in question walked into the bright light of the open room, no trace of her quiet smile visible. “Sorry. I thought here,” she took a deep breath. “No one would expect to look for me.”
Rutger had chosen the place because it had the most sun, while not being outside, for almost the exact same reason. “If you like, I never saw you.” He sat down again, reorganizing the sewing in his lap.
Sue did not leave, however. She chose to stand in silence, regarding either Rutger, or the slow process of mending, or perhaps the floor. He did not ask, and she did not volunteer the information. As his stitches took on the curve of the tear, he tried to imagine her reaction to Dieck's ridiculous suggestion that they could have been siblings for the way they talked. Maybe it would make her smile, politely, still holding onto her personal reserve.
In a rustle of cloth, Sue sat down, her knees drawn up to her chest, leaving her eyes to peer out warily at the world. “If you don't mind me asking, Rutger-I mean, it's obvious you don't want to think about it, but-do you know how many of the fighters at Bulgar made it out alive besides you?”
“No,” Rutger looped the thread, trying to get lost in the rhythm of sewing, and knowing that he could not ignore the intent stare. “Not many. They killed everyone who looked like Sacaen warriors. Even if they were just shop keepers. Or children in some neighborhoods.”
Sue made no noise. They sat together in silence. Rutger kept his attention firmly on his work, not even looking up when noises from the rest of the keep reached the sunny room. Sadness seemed to weigh on them.
“Shin said all of the Kutolah warriors were killed,” Sue said quietly.
There seemed to be something momentous in that statement. Rutger wasn't sure what, though, until he thought of his own green haired mother, the only hints of her mountain trader father in her light eyes. “Your blood family with them?”
“I don't know. They were warriors-they would have been targets. My grandfather, at least, was still alive when Shin left,” Sue's voice was thickening with the poorly concealed gulf of loneliness.
“We will be facing Bern again in the spring,” Rutger tried to offer, doubting, even as the words left his mouth that such a promise provided comfort for anyone other than him.
Sue's response was a long drawn out breath. She should have been having this conversation with Shin, Rutger thought. Someone who had known her, and knew whether false hope was better for her or if she responded best to cold realities.
“Some days I wish my father had taught me differently,” Sue murmured. “It is difficult, wanting someone to talk to, and not wanting to talk.”
“You think that your parents are dead?” Rutger asked again, looking up briefly, worried he might have started a flow of tears, but Sue surrounded herself with a personal calm stronger than steel.
Bowstring calloused fingers scraped over the wooden floor. “I didn't see them die.”
More words of hope, but Rutger doubted she really believed the tantalizing promise they held. Now was not a good time to suggest that her parents might have escaped by one of the many flukes of war, and even now were fighting across the Plains as best as they were able. Surely, some Kutolah beyond Shin had survived, though.
“You have Shin to talk to.”
Sue actually giggled. “I used to dunk him in horse troughs when I won races. He tries not to remember that now. But it's not so hard, keeping my thoughts to myself.”
It really wasn't too hard, she had that right. Rutger turned his attention back to sewing a lingering voice tentatively suggesting that he say something reassuring, but nothing wise and reassuring sprang to mind. Just the quiet repetition of thread going into cloth and out again.
At length, Sue stood. “Thank you, for telling me what you knew.”
“It wasn't much,” Rutger looped the thread around his finger, easing the string into a loose knot that tightened as he slipped it closer to the fabric. He should have given her more.
“You were honest with me. That is worth a thousand blessings for you.”
“And a thousand curses for our enemies,” as the familiar answer filled the space where it belonged Rutger froze.
The phrases had no more weight than the exchange of 'thank you' and 'you're welcome.' But it was like feeling a cold spring breeze rushing through his veins, fresh and heavy with promises for young horses and bright grass. He had not heard the greeting for nearly the full turning of the year, and here it was being offered again.
He listened to Sue's footsteps as she headed back to the regular chaos of the army, trying to make his stunned fingers examine the work he had accomplished so far. The new seam in his trousers had no uneven give, and although some of the stitching thread showed when he flipped the cloth right side out, he could certainly live with that. He had done sloppier work on smaller cuts in his shirt from other battles gone wrong. This should hold up nicely.
By the time he had put his trousers on, and started work on his shirt, several members of the army, trying to find a place to laze, had discovered the solar
as well. Rutger put up with Wolt's desire to stalk around him like a curious cat. He did try to glare the archer away when Wolt called Thany over to look at the still livid line sliding up his lower back.
“Isn't healing supposed to take care of that kind of thing? Hey, Thany, do you still have a scar in your shoulder, too? I guess Saul's a pretty bad healer.”
“A little bit of a scar. Some wounds can take days to go down, even with magic, though,” Thany grinned, holding up a knowing finger, and trying to sit in a more teacherly pose. “Saul said he was going to make sure that my scar wouldn't last, though. I kinda wanted it to, because you know, you should start collecting good war stories as soon as possible if you're a mercenary. Scars gain respect, even if Brother Saul doesn't think they're very cute.”
“You should probably tell that to Wade,” Rutger suggested mildly, hiding a smirk with intense concentration on his sewing. “I think he'd have fun picturing you as a scarred veteran. Who knows, he might even have an argument with Saul about cuteness.”
It wasn't very nice to do that to Saul, particularly after Saul had been decent enough to lend Rutger his clothes yesterday. However, Rutger had a pretty good idea where Dieck stood on the matter of Saul and Thany in any discussion of cuteness, and Dieck was owed solidarity on that front.
As the sun began to dip into deeper orange, Clarine came in, her face carrying the blotchy look of an unavoided tantrum. “Oh good. Dorothy said she saw you-were you half dressed when Dorothy came by?!”
The circle of lazy armsmen, many of whom were darning stockings, or fixing clothing, had grown at that point. Most everyone had something they needed to get done that couldn't be accomplished on the road, even people like Wolt and Thany, who were giggling about something as they tried to thread needles for their own projects.
Rutger blinked slowly, as he shook out his surcoat, testing the last of his stitching for gaps. He hadn't even seen Dorothy since that morning meeting, where he had been wearing nothing but his bedsheet. He still didn't have his newly repaired shirt on, mostly because he wanted to finish his surcoat before the sun slipped past the horizon.
“Probably,” if he dressed quickly now, there would be time for a late sword practice. The worries of Clarine for the eyes of her pious friend were none of his affair.
“Stop being so indecent!” Clarine's scowl held enough disapproving heat to make him look up. “You should have told me that you didn't have the money to be properly dressed when we were in Aquelia! I don't know how I'm going to find suitable clothes all the way out here! Oh, and if we were in the capitol, I could have found something that fit your coloring so much better than that dreary red!”
Rutger fought down a smile, as he rose, pulling on his shirt. Behind him, he heard Thany snicker around the word “scolding.”
“Well, that's better at least,” Clarine declared, her nose in the air, and the blotches on her cheeks more prominent up close. “Where are you going?”
“Sword practice,” the words might have been muffled by the cloth of the red surcoat as he pulled it on.
Looking down, Rutger felt a little put out that he no longer owned a belt. Much like Saul's robe, the warming practicality of wearing the surcoat would be negated by the fact that the cloth refused to stay close to his body. Clarine, unfortunately, seemed to have keen eyes for that sort of thing.
“Come with me. I have a belt you can wear. As a token. Of your service to me!”
It crossed Rutger's mind that Clarine was Etrurian. Given his conversation with Dieck, Rutger thought he might now understand a little bit of what the world looked like from Clarine's perspective. Perhaps she thought of him as a serf, and was trying to wrap him up in the trappings of vassalage. He should probably point out at some interval that he did not actually belong to her, and even if she had been paying his wage, he never would physically be her property. However, he followed her dutifully out of the solar, grabbing his kit and sword.
The belt was a little longer than he would have liked. By the fourth time he wound it around his waist, the leather had become a serious weight on his mid section. After hanging his sword clip on it, he noted that he still seemed to have whole wyvern lengths of leather left to go.
Clarine tutted as he fixed the buckle behind him. “It goes around at least twice more.”
“As long as I can draw my sword and dodge out of the way without tripping, that is all I need,” Rutger told her firmly. “Perhaps I will be able to find something more reasonable in sashes the next time we visit a market. Now, I must practice.”
He left, even as Clarine lit the room with a smile. Rutger suspected that he probably should not have mentioned shopping. He certainly should not have implied that she would be coming on any shopping excursion with him. Oh well, she was young, and if that made her happy, that was what made her happy.
An ugly thought struck him. He was becoming one of those terrible indulgent older brother types he had rolled his eyes at growing up. Admittedly, this was only because Clarine was doing without her real older brother, but the idea haunted him as he made his way outside, heading for the open ground past the stables as a practice yard.
While limbering up, Rutger pictured the possibility of having to drive off the Sauls of the world from Clarine when she grew a little older. Well, that was unlikely to happen in a war. And even if it did happen, he was under no actual obligation to protect her, other than when it amused him. The ghastly prospect of being attached to anyone by such an invisible and tenuous thread was not as pressing as it could have been.
His sword arced easily into the crescent form, his arm and right leg having no problem with the stretch. But his left leg protested in twinging aches as he turned the sweep of the blade into the natural parry, stepping back to take the imaginary opponent's lunge. Three attack forms ran smoothly through his body, from sword to back to feet. But each natural defense form that accompanied the attacks was weak. Perhaps he would have to rely on his dodging. Though any half trained novice would see that he was favoring his left side. They marched tomorrow. Would that be enough time?
Still, he had a good idea of what he could do with his sword at this point. Putting it on top of his blanket, Rutger closed his eyes, and began to block out movements he would need to rehearse to effectively dodge while his leg was being tricky.
Move as little as possible, he knew. Economy of movement was the sign of a true sword master. His normal technique was sloppier than necessary, involving a lot of quick motions and spins. It was completely excessive, but as long as he was always moving, he was difficult to catch, even if it sapped his reserves of energy far too quickly.
Maybe, though, it was time to change. He should learn to dodge with grace and attack with elegance. It was not too late to change how he attacked and defended.
Something jingled in front of him. Rutger raced for his sword before he opened his eyes, rising into a swift guard. Then he registered Shin's face in the sunset. The archer watched Rutger with critical eyes, looking more statue than human, as he rested next to his horse.
Rutger tried to match blankness for blankness. “Do you use swords?”
“No.”
“Are you watching me because you want to learn, then?”
“You are here,” Shin said, as though that statement alone explained everything.
Rutger bit back a scowl. He did not want to teach. For one thing, teaching involved far too much closeness than he ever wanted to open himself to. For another, he suspected that he did not know nearly enough to be able to teach effectively. “Go watch elsewhere.”
Shin stood silent for several long moments, before finally uncoiling. “You learned how to move like that on the Plains. I see that now.”
Rutger wanted to laugh. His stomach churned. “Does that change anything?”
“For me? Yes. For you? I doubt it.”
It wasn't pity. There was no room for pity in Shin's world. The leather of the sword hilt felt unreal in Rutger's hands. While Shin had been figuring out where Rutger was really from, the granddaughter of his Chief was trying not to cry over the news he had brought her. “Lady Sue,” but the betrayal of the confidences that they had shared died in Rutger's throat. “I saw her this afternoon.”
Rutger watched the hunter nod, and then move past him, leading the horse back to the stables. Did that mean that Shin accepted him? Could it be that Rutger did not want anything from someone who's life he would have once instantly traded his own for? Or maybe, they were all part of a greater army, and he was being foolish, carrying around the old jealousies of a townsman towards a tribesman. Either way, the young mercenary determined, he had to finish his exercises.
Previous Part (A Broken Castle) Next Part (The Village on the Western Shore)
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: M
Characters: Rutger, Dieck, Clarine, Sue, Fir, Klein, Saul
Genre: Romance, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort (still not clear what that is as a genre, but it's prolly the closest to accurate I'll get)
Pairings: Rutger/Dieck
Summary: It's not exactly a secret that Rutger has some aggression to work through. It is a bit of a surprise that Dieck is interested in this. But as the first half year of the War Against Bern rolls on, the status quo they create begins to change.
Title: Not Exactly a Secret - Part 10
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: G
Characters: Rutger, Dieck, Oujay, Wendy, Sue, Shin, Thany, Clarine, Roy
Genre: Friendship, Romance, Introspection
Pairings: Rutger/Dieck
Summary: The light of morning can bring a lot of changes and new resolutions.
Previous Part (A Broken Castle) Next Part (The Village on the Western Shore)
Not Exactly a Secret: Part 10
When Lugh and Chad rushed into the room, holding another pile of clothes, Rutger took the line and his own clothes downstairs and outside. He should have probably stayed, and listened to the plans forming. He was a lone mercenary, after all. It was his responsibility to speak for himself in an army.
Still, it felt better to be out in the watery sunshine and the rain soaked air of the drying yard. This castle, despite its disrepair, had a good drying yard, facing south off the stables. Sunlight did its best to flood the yard, and the posts were tall enough so that even the largest wool blanket would hang far from the ground. Rutger strung up the line, admiring the way it cut the castle keep into two precise separate halves, if he stood back with his head at the right angle.
He was just hanging up his tattered surcoat, when he sensed another person behind him. Turning to look over his shoulder, he was surprised to see that Oujay was just standing quietly, looking at him. He hadn't been aware that Oujay could be quiet. Shy, filled with the kind of clumsiness that came with nerves, and given to saying everything that was passing through his mind was how Rutger would have described the Ostian free mercenary.
“Yes?”
“I, I was just wondering if the meeting had broken up yet.”
“Not that I know.”
“Why aren't you at the morning meeting, then?”
“I needed to get my clothes cleaned and repaired as soon as possible.”
“Oh. So, you're going back, then? I mean, Sir Barth said he'd speak for me. But you aren't attached to anyone.”
Rutger twitched his shirt so that it hung better on the line. He didn't like that Oujay had just spoken his own thoughts. He wanted to stay out here, in the fresh air and empty sunshine. “What they decide doesn't effect me.”
“I know that we're just common mercenaries,” Oujay said quietly, “but, maybe it matters?”
Finally turning from the laundry, Rutger raked his eyes over Oujay. “I don't know about you. I'm here to be pointed in one direction, and kill anyone who gets in my way.” Dieck had been right about that. He really was only good at grinding his way through enemies.
Oujay hung his head. “Okay.”
As he turned away, Rutger wondered if the pointless words had a point beyond filling empty air. After all, Chad's attempt to wrangle sword lessons had been preceded by trivial discussion of guard duty. He glared, to scare Oujay off, but as the young mercenary was already walking toward the gaping mouth of the castle entrance, this did not have any effect.
“Rutger?” Oujay looked over his shoulder, slowing down. “If it's not too much to ask, but what cause do you have? I mean, why do you fight?”
“I need to destroy Bern. Until then, I need to eat just the same as anyone,” Rutger pointed out, reluctantly coming nearer so he wasn't shouting across the yard. “This company allows me to do that.”
“Oh.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“No. Of course not,” Oujay's voice pitched into high nervousness and Rutger didn't know whether to be amused or irritated. “Sir Bors told me something. About fighters needing causes, and I don't really have anything like his determination to serve Ostia forever. I'm a mercenary, and there will be other jobs after this one, no matter how nice Lady Lilina is. I tried asking Captain Dieck, but he just said he wanted fame once, and now he's looking after other people like him. But I don't have anything like that, so, I was wondering-”
“I'm not a model for you,” Rutger cut him off. At least he hoped he wasn't. Nice as it would been to have more hope that the fight against Bern would not end if he did die, the world didn't need any more people like him, or that quiet evidence of destruction that confronted the children from Araphen.
“No. I guess not,” Oujay's mouth quirked upward, though his eyebrows remained furrowed in worry, leaving his whole expression rather like a puppy who had just done something wrong and was clinging to the hope that no one would notice. “Sorry for bothering you. Um, do you want me to come get you when the decision about our next plans gets announced?”
Rutger, sure that he could probably find out where the whole army was going without Oujay's interference, was about to say no, when Wendy popped her head around the door in a blaze of pink.
“Oujay! Oh, and Master Rutger, why are you out there? Come on, General Roy has something he wants to say to the whole army! Is anyone else around?”
Rutger let go of his fantasy of a quiet morning alone. Some things were unavoidable. He followed Oujay back into the keep, trying to linger just outside of the shadows of the entrance as long as possible. However, with Wendy leading the way at a brisk walk, looking around for people who might not have heard, lingering was not particularly on the table.
That was the problem with a growing army, Rutger thought. Even during the summer, there were few enough people that if the plans of the army changed, or great decisions were made, Marcus, Lance and Allen would run around and deliver the news. Even if Rutger managed to escape the knights, nothing could escape Merlinus' rumor mill. Now they were all gathering together like the good sheep of an organized army. The followers were now responsible for knowing their orders, rather than the leaders being responsible for relaying the orders.
However, when they made their way up to the common room, the palpable tension in the air made Rutger consider that just perhaps he had been a bit too harsh in
his internal grumbling. With the room now packed with people all trying various poses of nonchalance without the space to actually be nonchalant, that underlying current only served to put Rutger on his guard.
Roy cleared his throat. “As some of you know, this part of the Isles used to boast two major settlements beholden to this castle. When we arrived the castle had been taken over by bandits, as the Etrurian government had told us, so it made sense that the people of the villages were trying to escape the area before the bandits could set themselves up as new overlords.
“Yesterday, thanks to the work of Rutger, Sue and Shin, we were able to provide a corridor of safety for the fleeing villagers. However, as the villagers were leaving, they told Lady Sue some things that possibly change our mission in the Isles,” Roy frowned, looking more like an angry child than Rutger had ever seen him appear before. Nevertheless, his voice was calm as he continued, that stubborn frown the only clue as to what he actually thought of the whole affair.
“The Isles are overrun with bandits, so much so that the local serfs have had to organize a militia of sorts, which doesn't make much sense, when we know an eighth of the Etrurian army is already stationed here to protect the mines. But it has also been said that people here in the South without the protection of overlords are often getting pressed into working the mines in the north. That would mean the bandits would be making serfs and freemen here into slaves. Which shouldn't be able to get past the army officials who handle transport to the north, and keep the records of the convicts that are supposed to be getting sentenced to the mines. From what the villagers said to Sue, well, it sounds as though many members of the army, here in the south at least, are, are, well, using their authority to be bandits themselves.”
There was a gasp of shocked outrage that had a distinctly Clarine-ish sound to it. “You are mistaken! My brother is with the army here on the Isles, and he would never do a thing like that! You are insulting my family's-”
Roy tried to back up a step to ward against the force of feeling in Clarine's words. However, he was already using the desk shoved against the wall as his backdrop, and there was no where really to step back to. “I did not say all the forces here, Clarine! Just some. I am sure your brother is a man of honor. I simply worry, that the Etrurian crown does not really know what is going on here. They never told us about this, after all. We have to find out more.
“We could go to the mines directly. The largest jewel mine is on Mount Ebrakhm, where the Church has sent its representative. But passing to the north unnoticed by the military officers we suspect of being corrupted would be difficult.
“There are rumors of the militia gathering to the West of here. They probably have their own agenda, but we might be able to find out a lot from them. The problem is that talking with them might bring us again into open conflict with pieces of the Etrurian military that like the chaos of situation here as it stands.”
A low mumbling hum of chatter broke out. Rutger tried to listen with one ear as he searched the crowd for some sign of Dieck. He suspected that there would be an interesting twist of cynicism on the Etrurians mercenary's face. However, before he could spot green hair and weathered skin, Lott raised a hand, and stood.
“Um, just so you all know, Wade and I, we're from around here. Our village is just down the coastline to the west. We could probably find out a bunch from the locals. They'd trust us far more than any Etrurians. Not sure how we'd fare up north, however. Before the Etrurians came, there used to be a lot of blood feuds between the clans down here and up there in North Fibernia and Dia.”
Rutger could imagine. The main clans in Sacae had proven themselves the strongest through generations of warfare, stealing herds and women back and forth from one another. Even when peace reigned, or they entered neutral territory like the markets of Bulgar, average clansmen would not talk to the bearer of the wrong colors or patterns unless it was trivial, or need was so great that clan secrets had to be aired abroad.
“We need to decide fast,” Barth rumbled. “Either way, we have to be underway by tomorrow morning. We're giving you all until the sun reaches it's zenith to put in your opinions, and then we make a decision. One way or another.”
Predictably, the usual suspects-Clarine and Thany at the head of the opinionated-pushed forward. Rutger allowed himself to be moved closer to the fire as he sought out Dieck. It was easy enough to slip around the press of humanity, trying to count heads at the edges of the throng. He was far from the only one not terribly interested in raising his voice. Sue was slipping towards the hall closest to the stairs with a speed and subtlety that would have done a grass viper proud. Shin, standing silently next to Fir, hadn't even noticed his charge sliding away under his nose.
Rutger paused for a moment, wondering if he should tell Shin. He would have the petty enjoyment of proving that he was better at keeping track of the lady than her supposed bodyguard. However, the crux of that point was the pettiness of the proof. Trying to prove to Shin something utterly pointless had consigned his day to laundry duty and sewing, already. Besides, he had caught sight of Dieck rising from a seat near a tapestry that had probably once commemorated some long ago battle.
“No opinion for the lords?” Rutger asked, holding out a hand in case Dieck needed the leverage.
The captain snorted, grabbing Rutger's hand as he pulled himself upright. “You just missed my dust up with Marcus, didn't you? I think I've said enough to make my feelings clear.”
“Oh?”
“Nothing special. I just pointed out what we all knew: we'd been sent here in revenge for Etruria's involvement in the war with Bern, and they don't expect or want us to come back alive. Any nobles who we thought would give us shelter won't do any such thing, and the army is soon going to turn against us if we get caught talking to the villeins. Marcus was a little outraged when I used some rude terms to describe the whole situation.”
Rutger could imagine. Dieck's rude words had probably sounded like an attack on the honor of Roy, just as the comments about the army had sounded like an attack on the honor of Clarine's elder brother. “Just talking to Lott and Wade's people is going to look suspicious?”
“Of course,” that fleeting dark cynicism flashed in Dieck's eyes again. “You don't start examining the furniture until you want to find out who's been kicking it, do you?”
“What?”
For a moment, Dieck looked truly perplexed, as though he had just said something funny, and Rutger had not understood the joke. He shook his head. “It would look suspicious. Nobles don't normally care about serfs they don't own.”
Ah. The baffling lines of separation outside of Sacae were raising their heads again. Rutger supposed that he would have found it suspicious if, say, a group of Kutolah warriors stopped for a long chat with any of the caravans he had guarded in the long gone summers, but he would have been suspecting a raid on the caravan, after the hunting party learned the trade route. That was all in the context of being a guard, and knowing what young men thirsting to prove their daring were likely to do in the height of summer months.
There would have been no trouble if the caravan was in neutral territory, and the warriors were interested in knowing the herd patterns that tradesmen had spotted. Even high clansmen could speak to people without a clan, and it wouldn't indicate anything beyond the personal conversation being held.
“You know better how Etruria's nobles deal with each other,” Rutger began, shrugging. “I am just an outsider, after all. It's very different at home.”
“You've always been a freeman, too,” Dieck agreed easily. “It's different for people who have to serve. All it takes is one selfish master and everything goes bad.”
Rutger paused, wondering if he should ask. Many of Dieck's little hesitations and evasions seemed tied to the position he had once held in a noble house, and the rumors that had made him buy himself free, a concept Rutger still had trouble understanding when he really thought about it. On the river, Dieck had sounded wistful for the place he once had, but all of his cynicism came to the fore whenever discussing nobility and service.
“Was the lord you had before the one whose son you saved one of the selfish ones?”
In the evasive darting of Dieck's eyes, Rutger wondered if he had asked too much, or if his question had been too direct. Suddenly, Dieck reached out a hand again, tangling his fingers together with Rutger's. “Hey, let's get get out of here, if we're going to talk about heavy stuff.”
The conversation around them had been rising and falling, but whenever Clarine was trying to make a point, it rose to a level that would have needed yelling to surpass. Rutger wasn't averse to slipping away from the stone room and its fireplace, only to head toward the dark staircase leading to the ground floor. In the darker passageways of the keep, away from the rest of the army, it almost felt comfortable. He even found his thumb rubbing the hard knuckles and veined skin of the back of
Dieck's hand, and smiled to himself.
Dieck stopped uncertainly in the hall leading to the abandoned washroom. Voices filtered down from overhead, but there were only shadows and the faint smell of mildew to keep them company. It wasn't very good company, however, and Rutger tugged Dieck onward, back to the drying yard. “Outside. It's sunny for autumn.”
“Yeah, but you're wearing basically nothing. Won't you get cold?” Dieck protested, using possibly the most ridiculous argument in the history of ridiculous arguments to stay and chat with mold eating spiders.
“I'm wearing more than you are,” Rutger pointed out, feeling the weight of the double fold of blanket around his waist and rationalizing that it was probably more material than Dieck's pants and armor combined.
“Okay. Won't I get cold? Man, you've been trying to run outside all day.”
Rutger gave him a long look as they entered the sun filled yard. “Is it too cold for your sensitive self?”
Dieck mimed a smack at Rutger's head with his free hand. His rueful grin was enough to make up for it, however, and Rutger decided to forgive him when he pulled Rutger against his chest. “Don't be fresh, you jerk.”
“I have to worry about your flower-like condition, though,” Rutger smirked, pushing Dieck back against the dark stones of the keep.
For a moment they stood, hand in hand, drowning in silence. Rutger could feel the heat the stones soaked up from the sunshine licking at the fingers Dieck held. It was a little brisk out in the open, but surely against that wall, Dieck would be warm enough.
“So,” Dieck began, falling silent again, before looking away. “So. Hey, could you turn around?”
Rutger's eyebrows tangled into knots of confusion, but he complied, turning in a half circle, stilling when Dieck's hands lighted on his hips to stop him.
“Heh. Thanks,” like a familiar shepherd's crook, Dieck's arm looped around his stomach. “Sorry, your eyes get a little scary when you haven't had much sleep. I'd just rather talk about this without the nagging feeling you're planning to murder me.”
“You don't have to talk about it. I'm not your family or anything.”
Rutger tried very hard to stay relaxed, hoping the words distracted Dieck from the comment about lack of sleep. Dieck just meant that they had gotten to bed late. He was not talking about Rutger's waking up again in the middle of the night. Getting worked up while Dieck was actually holding him was going to raise questions. Forcefully, Rutger pushed himself back into the lazy embrace, daring Dieck to find any tension in his body.
“Mmph! Hey, careful, I don't want to eat your hair, you know,” Dieck gasped.
The complaint seemed a bit like too much protesting, given the way the embrace deepened even as Dieck puffed at the offending hair. Rutger just settled for closing his eyes and basking in the sunlight with someone who wanted to be in his company.
“So. Selfish lordlings. Not that I haven't seen my share, but my first lord wasn't really that bad, or anything. If you want the truth, I was a really bad bondsman. My father had given his bond, and the bond of the next seven generations to a nobleman who gave him protection from bandits and a farm of his own,” Dieck rested his unshaven chin on Rutger's shoulder. “He just didn't count on a son who didn't want to have anything to do with farming, and willful enough to run away to the big city in Reimi.
“If you live as a freeman for a year and a day, your bond is broken. I'd pick up an odd job for the day, and go to the fighting pits at night. Usually around harvest time, I'd be dragged back to my lord's land, whipped, and set in the stocks for a few days. After that, I'd pull in the harvest, and run away in the winter again. That was the rhythm of life.”
Dieck trailed off. When the silence ran longer than a natural pause in the story, Rutger opened his eyes. Yards away Sister Ellen was hanging other clothes on the line. If Rutger strained, he could hear a faint humming of a tune he refused to recognize. “Continue. She won't hear if you keep your voice low.”
“Always going to have it your way?” Dieck leaned in just enough to rub his sharp nose against Rutger's cheek. “Since I turned out to be a big strong boy, my lord didn't want to loose my labor. My father thought I would turn out to be a decent family man when I got the wildness out of me. Meanwhile I hated them both for not seeing there could be so much more to life than waiting on the wind and rain.
“After a while I started running further and further away, until I made it to Aquelia. I loved it there. I was finally free, and learned all sorts of terrible things while a crowd as wild as I was cheered for my death. But I don't know. I'd go home when autumn started ripening, hand over what was left of my winnings, and take my beating like a good bondsman.
“My lord wasn't an evil man. That's just the way things were. He owned me, and I was constantly causing him grief, except at harvest time. He took his duty to protect me seriously, even if he didn't exactly understand,” Dieck's chuckle was a quiet rumble that shook through Rutger, “that I had no problem whatsoever when one of his overseers tied me to a support post in the stable and thrashed me soundly. But he tried to protect me, and hold up his end of the bond as best he could. I thought I had lucked out.
“Then I met Lord Pent and his lady, and they took my bond. They treated me like some sort of son. One who just liked the things I liked, and that wasn't a problem to be grown out of. I wasn't someone who owed them fealty or anything, except on papers I couldn't read, and the whole world of service was fine, since I was finally doing something that I was good at.
“But it made me think, too. I wanted to serve them for the rest of my life, but only because they didn't take that service for granted. Anyone with lesser lords always has to be on the look out. One selfish lord, who thinks only of the service owed to them, and nothing of the person giving the service, can be a disaster. My lord wasn't evil, but he never thought of me, or tried to come to an arrangement where I could serve him in some way that did not depend on farming for the rest of my life. And he was a good lord, all things told. He never imprisoned me for running away so often. An annual bout in the stocks and that was all. Repeat violent drunks get longer sentences.”
Rutger felt the breath on his skin as Dieck sighed. The hands spanning his stomach clutched tightly for a moment, and then relaxed. “All in all, I can't complain much. But I still feel everyone caught in a bond should be wary. Is it really different in Sacae?”
“Yes,” Rutger wrapped his hands over Dieck's tangle of fingers, marveling at how easy this was even when they didn't begin with a sword fight or competition. “Though it might be different for tribesmen. They have their chiefs and councils to answer to. But at the trade areas, well, we have arbiters and the law of Sacae, which is harder in some ways. But no man will ever own another quite like that.”
“I've wanted to ask, what's the difference between being from Sacae and not being part of a tribe? I always thought all nomads were from some tribe or other. Then I met you, and Fir said she's not part of any tribe, either.”
“Oh? When did she tell you that?” Rutger tried to keep his voice light. “She didn't name the town she was from, did she?”
“Mm. It was when Sue and Shin came over to relieve Dorothy in the battle yesterday. Sue said you'd been nearly killed, and Fir asked if there was anything special they'd have to do if you died, since she didn't know anything about Sacae, and it obviously mattered to you a lot. Lectures on funeral rites in the middle of battle are really silly, don't you think?”
The fingers clenched tightly as Dieck's voice rolled from his chest to his throat, trying so hard to sound like a joke. Awareness of the priestess blissfully tying up washing on the line pressed on Rutger as plainly as the protective spread of Dieck's hands. But he didn't care if people found him biting and scratching Dieck in dark corners. He refused to care if he shocked some holy Bernian right now in the sunlight, as he craned his head around to kiss Dieck softly.
“I really do promise to dodge next time, if it makes you feel better.”
“Oh, tons,” Dieck agreed, his voice thick, ducking his head for another kiss. “You know, you need more people to worry about you. You're almost kind when you're feeling guilty about getting hurt.”
Rutger rolled his eyes, digging an elbow into Dieck's side. “I don't care about 'people.'”
“Mm,” Dieck smiled into his neck. “You know, I once thought you were shy when it came to anyone you couldn't kill in good conscience. No. It just turns out you're a jerk who hates people. Should I be worried that sometimes I still find it strangely cute?”
“Probably,” his skin prickled, and his stomach did a little back flip. “Shy. Hmm. Do you treat all your lovers to such honest opinions?”
“Only when they're jerks who need a little encouragement. As for shy, it's an easy mistake, I guess, when you don't talk.”
“I do talk.”
“Not much,” Dieck teased. “Admittedly, Shin
makes you look like a chatterbox, but you and Sue could be siblings.”
Rutger snorted at the absurdity of the idea. “She's a full blooded tribeswoman. If you hadn't noticed, I'm a mongrel who doesn't belong anywhere near real Kutolah warriors.”
For a moment every muscle in Dieck's body seemed to go tight against him. “Is that what the little archer boy said to you?”
The sound of the low growl made Rutger roll his eyes in exasperation, even as his fingers tightened possessively over Dieck's and a strange breed of affection curled down his spine. “No, he didn't. The people who said that sort of thing are dead. You can argue with their ghosts if you like.”
“He said something, though,” Dieck persisted.
“Do you think I'm a coward who can't handle a few words?”
This close, Rutger could hear Dieck's teeth grind together, but Dieck remained silent to the challenge. In some strange way, Rutger almost wished that Dieck would call him out for being a coward and expose him. Otherwise, he might grow used to the easy happiness and acceptance from Dieck. Worse, he might not be able to give it up when he needed to.
“I don't think you should have to handle them,” Dieck managed at last. “And you've been acting different since he arrived. What did he say?”
Rutger leaned back, trying not to see Sister Ellen, the paragon of virtue. “Shin thought I was Bernian. Which is true, so,” the sentence trailed off into the bright autumn sky.
Dieck buried his face in Rutger's shoulder for a minute, likely trying to hide the movements of his expressive mouth. “I don't know what to do with you half the time,” he murmured.
If you had any sense, Rutger thought, you would leave me alone. But that was not happening, and Rutger couldn't bring himself to change it.
“Um, M-Master Rutger?” Sister Ellen called, snapping Rutger out of his reverie. “I think your clothes are dry.”
Rutger sighed, and pushed himself away from the encircling arms. Dieck drifted back, his hands lingering a few breaths longer than necessary, but eventually dropping to his sides. “Oh!”
Rutger turned, to see the larger mercenary dig in his pocket. Dieck brought something out, and held it up to Rutger. It was the thread Rutger had asked for that morning. “Our favorite peddler even had a spool in red.”
Rutger shook his head in wonder, but took the offered gift. “Dieck. If we-Tonight will be just as cold and damp. If you wanted to sleep in my room, I don't mind.”
Dieck closed his hand over Rutger's with an open grin. “I'm going to be wishing for more drafty castles at this rate.”
If Rutger had his sword to hand, he would have nicked Dieck's ear for impudence. Since he did not, all Rutger could do was roll his eyes, and wave the mercenary off, while he went to grab his clothes. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dieck saunter away, probably to go back and put in more pieces of advice calculated to anger Sir Marcus. Or spread gossip that the deranged Sacaen mercenary was going soft, but Rutger didn't really believe that was Dieck's intent.
As he went to find his sword and kit once more, searching after the small packet of needles and leather working tools, rumor of the decision had already begun to circulate. Rutger found himself a cozy place in what had probably once been the lady of the keep's solar, and sat down to the process of repairing his clothing, without much consideration of tomorrow. Various knightly types ran past the doorway outside, probably trying to organize gear and equipment.
He concentrated on the careful stitches needed to repair his trousers first, given that the need for them was probably the most pressing. At least if Saul had anything to say about it, it was. But he had hardly closed up a thumb-length of the tear when he heard a sniff that distracted him. Glancing around at first, he didn't see anyone, but then the shadows of the wing off the central great room shifted in a person shaped patch.
Rutger struggled to stand, holding onto his blanket firmly. “Lady Sue.”
The lady in question walked into the bright light of the open room, no trace of her quiet smile visible. “Sorry. I thought here,” she took a deep breath. “No one would expect to look for me.”
Rutger had chosen the place because it had the most sun, while not being outside, for almost the exact same reason. “If you like, I never saw you.” He sat down again, reorganizing the sewing in his lap.
Sue did not leave, however. She chose to stand in silence, regarding either Rutger, or the slow process of mending, or perhaps the floor. He did not ask, and she did not volunteer the information. As his stitches took on the curve of the tear, he tried to imagine her reaction to Dieck's ridiculous suggestion that they could have been siblings for the way they talked. Maybe it would make her smile, politely, still holding onto her personal reserve.
In a rustle of cloth, Sue sat down, her knees drawn up to her chest, leaving her eyes to peer out warily at the world. “If you don't mind me asking, Rutger-I mean, it's obvious you don't want to think about it, but-do you know how many of the fighters at Bulgar made it out alive besides you?”
“No,” Rutger looped the thread, trying to get lost in the rhythm of sewing, and knowing that he could not ignore the intent stare. “Not many. They killed everyone who looked like Sacaen warriors. Even if they were just shop keepers. Or children in some neighborhoods.”
Sue made no noise. They sat together in silence. Rutger kept his attention firmly on his work, not even looking up when noises from the rest of the keep reached the sunny room. Sadness seemed to weigh on them.
“Shin said all of the Kutolah warriors were killed,” Sue said quietly.
There seemed to be something momentous in that statement. Rutger wasn't sure what, though, until he thought of his own green haired mother, the only hints of her mountain trader father in her light eyes. “Your blood family with them?”
“I don't know. They were warriors-they would have been targets. My grandfather, at least, was still alive when Shin left,” Sue's voice was thickening with the poorly concealed gulf of loneliness.
“We will be facing Bern again in the spring,” Rutger tried to offer, doubting, even as the words left his mouth that such a promise provided comfort for anyone other than him.
Sue's response was a long drawn out breath. She should have been having this conversation with Shin, Rutger thought. Someone who had known her, and knew whether false hope was better for her or if she responded best to cold realities.
“Some days I wish my father had taught me differently,” Sue murmured. “It is difficult, wanting someone to talk to, and not wanting to talk.”
“You think that your parents are dead?” Rutger asked again, looking up briefly, worried he might have started a flow of tears, but Sue surrounded herself with a personal calm stronger than steel.
Bowstring calloused fingers scraped over the wooden floor. “I didn't see them die.”
More words of hope, but Rutger doubted she really believed the tantalizing promise they held. Now was not a good time to suggest that her parents might have escaped by one of the many flukes of war, and even now were fighting across the Plains as best as they were able. Surely, some Kutolah beyond Shin had survived, though.
“You have Shin to talk to.”
Sue actually giggled. “I used to dunk him in horse troughs when I won races. He tries not to remember that now. But it's not so hard, keeping my thoughts to myself.”
It really wasn't too hard, she had that right. Rutger turned his attention back to sewing a lingering voice tentatively suggesting that he say something reassuring, but nothing wise and reassuring sprang to mind. Just the quiet repetition of thread going into cloth and out again.
At length, Sue stood. “Thank you, for telling me what you knew.”
“It wasn't much,” Rutger looped the thread around his finger, easing the string into a loose knot that tightened as he slipped it closer to the fabric. He should have given her more.
“You were honest with me. That is worth a thousand blessings for you.”
“And a thousand curses for our enemies,” as the familiar answer filled the space where it belonged Rutger froze.
The phrases had no more weight than the exchange of 'thank you' and 'you're welcome.' But it was like feeling a cold spring breeze rushing through his veins, fresh and heavy with promises for young horses and bright grass. He had not heard the greeting for nearly the full turning of the year, and here it was being offered again.
He listened to Sue's footsteps as she headed back to the regular chaos of the army, trying to make his stunned fingers examine the work he had accomplished so far. The new seam in his trousers had no uneven give, and although some of the stitching thread showed when he flipped the cloth right side out, he could certainly live with that. He had done sloppier work on smaller cuts in his shirt from other battles gone wrong. This should hold up nicely.
By the time he had put his trousers on, and started work on his shirt, several members of the army, trying to find a place to laze, had discovered the solar
as well. Rutger put up with Wolt's desire to stalk around him like a curious cat. He did try to glare the archer away when Wolt called Thany over to look at the still livid line sliding up his lower back.
“Isn't healing supposed to take care of that kind of thing? Hey, Thany, do you still have a scar in your shoulder, too? I guess Saul's a pretty bad healer.”
“A little bit of a scar. Some wounds can take days to go down, even with magic, though,” Thany grinned, holding up a knowing finger, and trying to sit in a more teacherly pose. “Saul said he was going to make sure that my scar wouldn't last, though. I kinda wanted it to, because you know, you should start collecting good war stories as soon as possible if you're a mercenary. Scars gain respect, even if Brother Saul doesn't think they're very cute.”
“You should probably tell that to Wade,” Rutger suggested mildly, hiding a smirk with intense concentration on his sewing. “I think he'd have fun picturing you as a scarred veteran. Who knows, he might even have an argument with Saul about cuteness.”
It wasn't very nice to do that to Saul, particularly after Saul had been decent enough to lend Rutger his clothes yesterday. However, Rutger had a pretty good idea where Dieck stood on the matter of Saul and Thany in any discussion of cuteness, and Dieck was owed solidarity on that front.
As the sun began to dip into deeper orange, Clarine came in, her face carrying the blotchy look of an unavoided tantrum. “Oh good. Dorothy said she saw you-were you half dressed when Dorothy came by?!”
The circle of lazy armsmen, many of whom were darning stockings, or fixing clothing, had grown at that point. Most everyone had something they needed to get done that couldn't be accomplished on the road, even people like Wolt and Thany, who were giggling about something as they tried to thread needles for their own projects.
Rutger blinked slowly, as he shook out his surcoat, testing the last of his stitching for gaps. He hadn't even seen Dorothy since that morning meeting, where he had been wearing nothing but his bedsheet. He still didn't have his newly repaired shirt on, mostly because he wanted to finish his surcoat before the sun slipped past the horizon.
“Probably,” if he dressed quickly now, there would be time for a late sword practice. The worries of Clarine for the eyes of her pious friend were none of his affair.
“Stop being so indecent!” Clarine's scowl held enough disapproving heat to make him look up. “You should have told me that you didn't have the money to be properly dressed when we were in Aquelia! I don't know how I'm going to find suitable clothes all the way out here! Oh, and if we were in the capitol, I could have found something that fit your coloring so much better than that dreary red!”
Rutger fought down a smile, as he rose, pulling on his shirt. Behind him, he heard Thany snicker around the word “scolding.”
“Well, that's better at least,” Clarine declared, her nose in the air, and the blotches on her cheeks more prominent up close. “Where are you going?”
“Sword practice,” the words might have been muffled by the cloth of the red surcoat as he pulled it on.
Looking down, Rutger felt a little put out that he no longer owned a belt. Much like Saul's robe, the warming practicality of wearing the surcoat would be negated by the fact that the cloth refused to stay close to his body. Clarine, unfortunately, seemed to have keen eyes for that sort of thing.
“Come with me. I have a belt you can wear. As a token. Of your service to me!”
It crossed Rutger's mind that Clarine was Etrurian. Given his conversation with Dieck, Rutger thought he might now understand a little bit of what the world looked like from Clarine's perspective. Perhaps she thought of him as a serf, and was trying to wrap him up in the trappings of vassalage. He should probably point out at some interval that he did not actually belong to her, and even if she had been paying his wage, he never would physically be her property. However, he followed her dutifully out of the solar, grabbing his kit and sword.
The belt was a little longer than he would have liked. By the fourth time he wound it around his waist, the leather had become a serious weight on his mid section. After hanging his sword clip on it, he noted that he still seemed to have whole wyvern lengths of leather left to go.
Clarine tutted as he fixed the buckle behind him. “It goes around at least twice more.”
“As long as I can draw my sword and dodge out of the way without tripping, that is all I need,” Rutger told her firmly. “Perhaps I will be able to find something more reasonable in sashes the next time we visit a market. Now, I must practice.”
He left, even as Clarine lit the room with a smile. Rutger suspected that he probably should not have mentioned shopping. He certainly should not have implied that she would be coming on any shopping excursion with him. Oh well, she was young, and if that made her happy, that was what made her happy.
An ugly thought struck him. He was becoming one of those terrible indulgent older brother types he had rolled his eyes at growing up. Admittedly, this was only because Clarine was doing without her real older brother, but the idea haunted him as he made his way outside, heading for the open ground past the stables as a practice yard.
While limbering up, Rutger pictured the possibility of having to drive off the Sauls of the world from Clarine when she grew a little older. Well, that was unlikely to happen in a war. And even if it did happen, he was under no actual obligation to protect her, other than when it amused him. The ghastly prospect of being attached to anyone by such an invisible and tenuous thread was not as pressing as it could have been.
His sword arced easily into the crescent form, his arm and right leg having no problem with the stretch. But his left leg protested in twinging aches as he turned the sweep of the blade into the natural parry, stepping back to take the imaginary opponent's lunge. Three attack forms ran smoothly through his body, from sword to back to feet. But each natural defense form that accompanied the attacks was weak. Perhaps he would have to rely on his dodging. Though any half trained novice would see that he was favoring his left side. They marched tomorrow. Would that be enough time?
Still, he had a good idea of what he could do with his sword at this point. Putting it on top of his blanket, Rutger closed his eyes, and began to block out movements he would need to rehearse to effectively dodge while his leg was being tricky.
Move as little as possible, he knew. Economy of movement was the sign of a true sword master. His normal technique was sloppier than necessary, involving a lot of quick motions and spins. It was completely excessive, but as long as he was always moving, he was difficult to catch, even if it sapped his reserves of energy far too quickly.
Maybe, though, it was time to change. He should learn to dodge with grace and attack with elegance. It was not too late to change how he attacked and defended.
Something jingled in front of him. Rutger raced for his sword before he opened his eyes, rising into a swift guard. Then he registered Shin's face in the sunset. The archer watched Rutger with critical eyes, looking more statue than human, as he rested next to his horse.
Rutger tried to match blankness for blankness. “Do you use swords?”
“No.”
“Are you watching me because you want to learn, then?”
“You are here,” Shin said, as though that statement alone explained everything.
Rutger bit back a scowl. He did not want to teach. For one thing, teaching involved far too much closeness than he ever wanted to open himself to. For another, he suspected that he did not know nearly enough to be able to teach effectively. “Go watch elsewhere.”
Shin stood silent for several long moments, before finally uncoiling. “You learned how to move like that on the Plains. I see that now.”
Rutger wanted to laugh. His stomach churned. “Does that change anything?”
“For me? Yes. For you? I doubt it.”
It wasn't pity. There was no room for pity in Shin's world. The leather of the sword hilt felt unreal in Rutger's hands. While Shin had been figuring out where Rutger was really from, the granddaughter of his Chief was trying not to cry over the news he had brought her. “Lady Sue,” but the betrayal of the confidences that they had shared died in Rutger's throat. “I saw her this afternoon.”
Rutger watched the hunter nod, and then move past him, leading the horse back to the stables. Did that mean that Shin accepted him? Could it be that Rutger did not want anything from someone who's life he would have once instantly traded his own for? Or maybe, they were all part of a greater army, and he was being foolish, carrying around the old jealousies of a townsman towards a tribesman. Either way, the young mercenary determined, he had to finish his exercises.
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