There had only been perhaps a handful of times in the hundreds of years that house Hayford had ruled Haycastle that its great hall had been this busy. Tables packed the floor so tightly that the servants, carrying plates laden with food or flagons of wine, could scarcely move between them. The room buzzed with the sound of hundreds of folk conversing at once, the scraping of forks on plates, the glasses clinking together, the bustle of the servants coming and going.
And yet somehow, at the head of the room, on the dais, an uncomfortable silence reigned.
Ophelia smiled politely at a joke made by her brother, Duke Brennar, the lord of Haycastle. While she appreciated his attempts to put the table at ease she could not bring herself to laugh. Feeling him tense, she gently squeezed the hand of the man - stranger, knight, hero, husband - sat to her right, a silent gesture of solidarity, she knew he must be feeling at least as uncomfortable as she was.
She looked across the table, and saw the familiar eyes of Laycie Sawler watching her with a gentle smile.
'Will you be staying in Haycastle long, Lady Ophelia?' Laycie asked casually. Ophelia could almost forget that her old friend certainly knew the answer, had undoubtedly had a hand in the plans for her departure, knew more about the journey than she did herself. Still, she was grateful for an easy question to answer.
'I don't think so. Long enough for ser Newall to see Mattheo settled and Terin on her way, and then we'll be departing ourselves I think,' she answered. She pretended not to notice the glare the teen sat beside Laycie fixed her with at the mention of her name.
'A shame. It must be nice to be back in your childhood home again.'
'Yes and no. I have been here since Brennar marched to war, so I have had plenty of time here. But Haycastle has not been the same since...' Ophelia trailed off, a lump in her throat. She wasn't even sure what specifically she meant, it seemed that since she had become an adult she only returned to her birthplace when some tragedy struck. She tried desperately not to compare this day to those.
'Of course dear, of course.' Laycie fixed her with those eyes, full of empathy. She knew the pressure on Ophelia, that had been on her since they first met.
She glanced at the man side at her side, examining his face for she knew not what. He seemed distant, distracted. He had barely eaten since they had taken their seats, pushing the food around his plate, but she could hardly faulty him for that, her own plate was in much the same state. She was about to ask him a question, when the guest on his far side spoke up.
'Terin,' another familiar voice, comforting, addressing the girl sat across from her, 'have you ever been to the capital before?'
The girl scrunched her face into a sullen scowl at the sound of her name, barely looking up from her plate.
'No.'
'No your highness,' Ophelia corrected without thinking. She stumbled to soften the admonishment, 'I-I know you don't know how to...that you haven't spoken to royalty before. Ser Sola may be a knight, but she is a Princess too, so you should address her appropriately.'
Ophelia had not thought it possible, but the girl's scowl deepened. She scraped her chair back from the table and gave an exaggerated curtsy
'I'm so sorry your highness. I should go away and think about my rudeness.'
Before any of the adults could respond Terin had snatched a bottle of drink from the table and run down the steps of the dais to disappear into the crowd. Further down the table a pair of older women in the distinctive black and green of House Gaunt shook their heads and muttered at the teen's insolence. For her part, ser Sola Somercrag seemed more entertained than offended at the display.
'It's been a big day for everyone, I feel,' said Laycie, ever the diplomat. 'Especially the little ones.'
'Of course,' Ophelia responded. 'Change is never easy.'
And what a change it was. Terin and Mattheo had barely had their father back in their lives when they were told of how their lives would be changing. Now they had to say goodbye again.
'Speaking of the children, has anyone seen Mattheo?' she asked.
At the far end of the table her brother chuckled.
'I think he and Edgarth are out there somewhere. Something about "wanting to connect with the real people of the castle", apparently.'
At least Mattheo was settling into his new place a little easier, and Ophelia was relieved to hear he was with his cousin, Brennar's son.
-----
At one of the tables below the dias, near the head of the room, another sullen child sat between his parents. On his right his father, in newly fashioned clothes to match his appointment to the position of Marshal for the Foxworths. On his left his mother, whose flour-stained dress was a testament to her inability to stay out of the kitchens, even on a day like today when they were guests. As for Colrin himself, like his father he wore a new outfit declaring himself a servant of the Foxworths, though he had never so much as met one of them before tonight.
Across the table from them, two women ate in awkward silence. The first Colrin recognised as a Spire Advisor, clad in robes of rough grey wool, her head shaven, her face bearing a tattoo of sharp geometric lines down one side. The second, he was told, was one of the Lamas Plainsfolk. She wore a dress covered in delicate embroidery and a scarf of light, almost translucent, silk that wrapped around her head.
'Come now Colrin,' he winced at the sound of his mother's strong Baycotte accent, 'yer gointa be spendin' time with this lady while ya goes to't Spire. Ent they're nothin you wants to ask her?'
Colrin glanced first at his mother's round face, her brow furrowed in concern, then at the dark face of the woman across from him, smiling at him expectantly.
'Like you said, there will be time for that while we're travelling,' he replied, reverting his gaze to the plate in front of him.
'Hows about this Alis lady then?' his father asked, nudging him with an elbow, 'Sure she knows all about this Spire place, d'ya not wanna ask her nothin? I bet she's got some stories or secrets she can impart, eh?'
'I guess.' This time Colrin didn't even look up from his food, shoving a forkful of spiced pork into his mouth in the hopes it might buy him a reprieve from the conversations.
'You know, it's a great thing you're doing here Colrin,' the Spire Advisor began, 'not just for the Foxworths, who will be forever in your family's debt, but for yourself.
'You father tells me you've been a lover of books from a young age. The Spire has more books than you could possibly imagine - more books than you could read in a lifetime even if you never slept. And you'll be taught so much - medicine, science, history.
'I think you'll be like me - I'm one of the youngest ever to graduate The Spire - and then you'll start on a life as an Advisor to a Noble House, or maybe you'll travel the length and breadth of Greland as an Investigator, being one of the first in the world to learn about new things as they happen.
'I know it seems like a lot right now, to be leaving behind your family, but I'm excited for you!'
Beside him his parents murmured in agreement, while Colrin continued to eat in silence.
-----
On finding Mattheo at the far end of the hall, Terin noted two things, neither surprising to her. The first was that her brother was already the centre of attention of a group of a half-dozen of Duke Brennar's men-at-arms, joining in with the guards' stories. The second thing she noted was the absence of Edgarth Hayford, the duke's son. Knowing Mattheo as she did, she suspected he had quickly tired of trying to coax the older boy into joining the soldiers, and had left him to brood somewhere.
As she approached the end of the table, the guards erupted into laughter, her brother beaming proudly. She waited for the reaction to his latest joke to die down, then leaned in.
One of the older men at the table coughed exaggeratedly to draw the attention of his comrades.
'Apologies, Lady Terin, how ca-' he began, but was interrupted by her brother's mocking voice.
'Lady Terin? You hear that? He called you a lady!'
'I'm not a lady. That's my...' she couldn't bring herself to say it, '...my father's new wife. I'm just...Terin.'
The man who'd spoken up was red and staring fixedly at his plate. Terin realised he felt as uncomfortable now as she had. She shook it off, and turned back to her brother.
'I see you're already getting to know the locals,'
Her brother fixed her again with his grin - the one that seemed too big for his face, wide though it was.
'You know me,' he shrugged, before shoving another forkful of spiced meats and potato into his mouth.
Terin rolled her eyes.
'So what brings you all the way down to our table anyway? I thought you and 'mother' would be deep in conversation by now,' he teased, to a chorus of chuckles from the surrounding folk.
Terin bit back the urge to snap at her brother - she couldn't bear to fight with him too tonight.
'I was bored,' she lied instead, 'everyone up there is talking about how great everything is going to be and...well, that's not really for me. So I'm going to go walk the grounds...but I thought I'd bring you and your new friends a gift first.'
Mattheo's eyes lit up at the mention of a gift, and she was reminded suddenly how young he was. How young they both were. She could feel the sting of tears building in the corners of her eyes, and knew she needed to get through this and out of the room before she started crying in front of all these people.
From behind her back she brought out the bottle of wine she'd siezed earlier from the high table, and placed it in front of her brother. One of the younger women in the Hayford livery gasped, but the older man that had spoken to earlier stared at the bottle with something like apprehension, as though it might lash out at him somehow.
Mattheo wasted no time in grabbing the bottle and pulling its stopper.
'Make sure you all get a drink, I doubt you'll see it's like again soon,' she said to no-one in particular, her vision already swimming, 'and make sure he doesn't drink too much, he's just a boy really.'
And then she was moving again, away from the table, moving toward the doorway out of the great hall by memory as the tears took over.
-----
At some unspoken signal, the music in the hall abruptly stopped.
Slowly, as people gathered at tables around the room began to notice, the conversation died out too, and was replaced with the sound of clapping, building in volume as more people around the room took it up.
Ophelia's cheeks burned as the realisation dawned on her. Around the table, a score of faces watched her and her new husband, but she couldn't bear to look back at them to read their intentions. All she could do was look down at the table, where her husband's knuckles were white as they gripped her hand.
She looked up, searching Newall's face for something - though she could not have said what. It wasn't until she saw the stillness of his face that she realised she too was holding her breath. And as that realisation dawned on her and she slowly let out her shaking breath, she resolved to take the intiative herself, standing from the table and gently leading her husband to do the same.
As she rose, the gathered crowd burst into cheering. The relentless clapping continued, the band struck up once more, and suddenly the crowd was around them both, the beating, the sharp strings of the violings, the momentum carrying them down the length of the hall and into the halls beyond.
It wasn't until Ophelia shut the doors to her bedchamber that they were alone. She realised as she turned back to her husband that it was the first time the two of them had been alone. She took the opportunity to take him in - staring, in a way she hadn't been able to do while observed by so many. But when she saw the blank expression on his face, she stepped closer and put a tender hand on his face.
His eyes turned to hers, she realised for the first time since they had met. The bright green she had seen in both his children was born here, but behind it lurked something - a pain, she realised, the weight of years and tragedies she could not yet guess. For the first time, his face softened, and the hint of a smile broke his features.
Ophelia reached up to the edge of the white hood her wore over his head - an affectation from his time in the Lamas Plains, she gathered - and suddenly his hands were on hers, stopping her. His face twisted again in an expression she did not yet know his face well enough to read - sadness? Concern, maybe? Regardless, Ophelia pushed past it, gently but firmly moving his hands aside, unlatching the fox head pin that held his cowl closed, and pushing back the hood.
She gasped as she unveiled the twisted knot of black scar tissue that stretched from his left ear, along his jawline and down under the cowl. It spread dark tendrils under the skin, tracing veins with a web of black lines.
At her gasp, ser Newall's hands were on hers again, peeling them away. He crossed the room quickly, turning from her. Quickly, deliberately he shed the outer layers of his clothes, before climbing into the bed, where he lay down facing away from Ophelia.
By the time she had recovered from her shock and moved to check on him, the stillness of his body and the steadiness of his breathing told her he was already sleeping. Slowly she undressed herself and joined him in the bed. Her husband beside her was unnaturally still, and more than once before she fell asleep she found herself staring at him, listening to his shallow breaths to prove he still lived.
-----
The sun had not yet risen when Colrin stumbled out into Haycastle's courtyard, followed by the silent, grey-clad man that had woken him. On the far side by the gate, the plainswoman Adrielle stood in conversation with a pair of guards in the dark blue and gold livery of the Hayford men-at-arms.
'There 'e is! Ready for your adventure, boy?' one of the guards asked, while the man beside him scowled under his helm.
'I still don't see why they've gotta go so early,' the dour faced man stated.
'Look at it this way Eomund. We'd be on watch tonight either way, at least this gives us something to do, eh?'
'On watch in the guardhouse though Elliot.'
The younger guard shrugged, and turned his attention back to Colrin.
'Don't you mind 'im, e's just gotta 'ave something ta grumble about. You've got an adventure to worry about!'
The ensuing awkwardness was broken a few moments later when a pair of stablehands - not much older than Colrin themselves, and clearly no happier about the early hour - exited the nearby stable, leading between them a trio of horses.
'Your father told me you can ride Colrin,' Adrielle stated as the boys began to position the mounts, 'we'll be much faster this way, 'til we reach the pass at least.'
Colrin was sure his father had said much more besides. "He can ride, but not well, just like everything else he does" he was sure his father had actually said. And he wasn't wrong. Colrin knew how to ride. Just like he knew how to swing a sword and shoot a bow and a dozen other things his father had tried to teach him. He just couldn't make his body actually do it. Not the way that he could make words do things. Heck, he could probably write a book about how to ride a horse. He just couldn't do it, not well enough for his father anyway.
Of course, Colrin didn't say any of this out loud. He just took the offered boost into the saddle, and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders against the chill morning air. Adrielle and the grey-clad man climbed onto their own mounts, and the gates creaked open. The horses set out onto the path down out of Haycastle. Ahead of them, the Hespeak mountains sloped East, down toward Eastlake, where the first rays of the sun's rising were beginning to light the rivers like ribbons of fire dividing the land as it stretched out toward the Mirror Sea.
