Friends of the Hawk: Part 2
Title: Friends of the Hawk: Part 2 - Finding Direction
Rating: M (overall for potential future gore, but T for this chapter)
Characters: Ser Gilmore, Dairren, Angus (Dog), many OCs (Fergus Cousland also a main, but not featured in this chapter)
Pairings: None, because *points to genre*
Genre: Adventure/Intrigue/Drama
Word Count: 7200+
Summary: Alternate Universe. Work In Progress. Non-slash. Based on The Migration AU. The Couslands are dead and Arl Rendon Howe controls Highever. There are survivors from Castle Cousland, however, and it's up to them to reclaim the Terynir in the Cousland name. Part 2: The survivors from the massacre at Cousland Castle flee and try to find their respective ways.
Part 1 on FF.net
A snippet:
Angus whined as Roland got the short stick clenched in his teeth. If he was going to survive then he was going to need to fix his injuries, starting with his hand. The ankle was fine, just a minor sprain, and though it was still tender he could walk on it and even run on it if necessary. His eye he was going to have to see to last. It was a bloody, swollen mess, he knew, and he would have to tend to it at the sacrifice of the shirt he wore under the armor. None of that could be done, however, till he had two hands to work with.
The last two fingers were not broken, just dislocated. He'd had that happen to his thumb a time or two before so he knew what he had to do to fix it. It was going to hurt putting the bone joints back in place, but it had to be done or he'd suffer more permanent damage. Bracing his back against the tree, he got a grip around the base of both fingers. He counted to three and then pulled.
The stick in his teeth did its job of preventing him from hollering out too loud or biting down on his own tongue. Both fingers gave an audible pop and though it hurt like a demon he knew he managed to get both reset right. Breath hissed out through his teeth and he gave himself a moment for the pain to subside. Funny enough, the words of Ser Jarva, the master-at-arms he trained under as a squire, came at him then.
There are two things that make a soldier what he is. Discipline and pain, Roland could just see him now pacing back and forth in front of the young men sent to Castle Cousland to serve, glowering as he spoke. Discipline to keep your head in battle and a tolerance for pain. Keeping your head is what I will teach you, so don't you worry about that. However, if you cannot stand pain . . . then you can march home right now to go sob at your mother's teat! Pain is what makes a soldier realize he is alive. Pain is what makes a man know he has yet to be sent to the Maker's side. Pain means life and if you live you can still fight. Remember that!
He recalled how he and Aedan had rolled their eyes at one another after getting that speech. They had thought it just overly manly talk meant to frighten and impress their young and impressionable minds. Now, though, the words rung horribly true. He was in pain, he was alive, and he'd live on to fight another day. Others were not as fortunate.
Thinking of Ser Jarva and Aedan made him think of the rest of the Cousland family and everyone else at the castle that was lost. Osmen, who just the day before had to be disciplined for falling asleep while guarding the treasury, stood by him at the door with determination and pride. All the men with him in that hall who were willing to give their lives for the Teyrn and his family were gone. He was the only one left and he had to continue the fight for them.
A nudge at his elbow and a high keening whine broke him of his thoughts. After petting Angus's head reassuringly he took the stick out of his mouth and spat out a little bit of tree bark. Flexing his fingers experimentally he guessed he did it properly enough. It still hurt and he could barely bend them, but the muscles and tendons felt like they were in their proper places. The fingers were not broken as far as he could tell.
"Let's get more distance under our belts, Angus," he uttered to the Warhound as he pushed off the tree. "Give my hand some time before I see to my eye."
Angus gave a muted bark through his jowls and followed Roland's lead.
Link to Part 2 on FF.net
Rating: M (overall for potential future gore, but T for this chapter)
Characters: Ser Gilmore, Dairren, Angus (Dog), many OCs (Fergus Cousland also a main, but not featured in this chapter)
Pairings: None, because *points to genre*
Genre: Adventure/Intrigue/Drama
Word Count: 7200+
Summary: Alternate Universe. Work In Progress. Non-slash. Based on The Migration AU. The Couslands are dead and Arl Rendon Howe controls Highever. There are survivors from Castle Cousland, however, and it's up to them to reclaim the Terynir in the Cousland name. Part 2: The survivors from the massacre at Cousland Castle flee and try to find their respective ways.
Part 1 on FF.net
A snippet:
Angus whined as Roland got the short stick clenched in his teeth. If he was going to survive then he was going to need to fix his injuries, starting with his hand. The ankle was fine, just a minor sprain, and though it was still tender he could walk on it and even run on it if necessary. His eye he was going to have to see to last. It was a bloody, swollen mess, he knew, and he would have to tend to it at the sacrifice of the shirt he wore under the armor. None of that could be done, however, till he had two hands to work with.
The last two fingers were not broken, just dislocated. He'd had that happen to his thumb a time or two before so he knew what he had to do to fix it. It was going to hurt putting the bone joints back in place, but it had to be done or he'd suffer more permanent damage. Bracing his back against the tree, he got a grip around the base of both fingers. He counted to three and then pulled.
The stick in his teeth did its job of preventing him from hollering out too loud or biting down on his own tongue. Both fingers gave an audible pop and though it hurt like a demon he knew he managed to get both reset right. Breath hissed out through his teeth and he gave himself a moment for the pain to subside. Funny enough, the words of Ser Jarva, the master-at-arms he trained under as a squire, came at him then.
There are two things that make a soldier what he is. Discipline and pain, Roland could just see him now pacing back and forth in front of the young men sent to Castle Cousland to serve, glowering as he spoke. Discipline to keep your head in battle and a tolerance for pain. Keeping your head is what I will teach you, so don't you worry about that. However, if you cannot stand pain . . . then you can march home right now to go sob at your mother's teat! Pain is what makes a soldier realize he is alive. Pain is what makes a man know he has yet to be sent to the Maker's side. Pain means life and if you live you can still fight. Remember that!
He recalled how he and Aedan had rolled their eyes at one another after getting that speech. They had thought it just overly manly talk meant to frighten and impress their young and impressionable minds. Now, though, the words rung horribly true. He was in pain, he was alive, and he'd live on to fight another day. Others were not as fortunate.
Thinking of Ser Jarva and Aedan made him think of the rest of the Cousland family and everyone else at the castle that was lost. Osmen, who just the day before had to be disciplined for falling asleep while guarding the treasury, stood by him at the door with determination and pride. All the men with him in that hall who were willing to give their lives for the Teyrn and his family were gone. He was the only one left and he had to continue the fight for them.
A nudge at his elbow and a high keening whine broke him of his thoughts. After petting Angus's head reassuringly he took the stick out of his mouth and spat out a little bit of tree bark. Flexing his fingers experimentally he guessed he did it properly enough. It still hurt and he could barely bend them, but the muscles and tendons felt like they were in their proper places. The fingers were not broken as far as he could tell.
"Let's get more distance under our belts, Angus," he uttered to the Warhound as he pushed off the tree. "Give my hand some time before I see to my eye."
Angus gave a muted bark through his jowls and followed Roland's lead.
Link to Part 2 on FF.net