Shadows in the WoodIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | Shadows in the Wood Corryn's own camp seemed subdued in the darkness, with few lights showing. Phalan was on the watch for him by the wagon that marked the entrance, and came forward. "We've laid him out, Ser, as you would wish," he said, without preamble. "And the Knives are taking it in turn to stand watch for him. All but the Mistress. She's stood vigil throughout." Corryn smiled proud, feeling his heart ache for his dear Limosa. "She is without doubt one the finest women I've ever known. I think the Maiden has blessed us with her, old friend. I'd better relieve her. She'll need some sleep." He turned to go and then paused. "Phalan," he said softly. His eyes turned to his friend. "Do you think… do you believe the men would think poorly of me if I was to…" He sighed inwardly. "I was to make her more than my adoptive child? She stirs something in me I had long thought dead. If she would have me, I do not believe I could say 'no.' But we are a family and the men's opinion is very precious to me. As is yours." Phalan looked at him for a long moment, and then away. "The men would not gainsay you, Ser. She has already won their hearts and their love. But ... " He hesitated, and then went on with a rush, "Do you not think the reason she gives her love so freely is because she trusts you? She trusts you as her father, Ser. I fear ... speak to her of the love that lies between a man and a woman, Ser, and you will scare her away as any timid leveret. I'm thinking that what she saw in the Leaning Tower - perhaps what happened to her - have not given her any taste for that sort of love." Corryn scratched the stubble on his chin, listening to these words carefully. Then, with almost a relieved smile, he nodded. "This is why I keep you around," he said, reaching over to slap Phalan's arm. "You're far wiser than I in these matters. I think you're probably right in this. The last thing I wish is to hurt her or betray her trust." He sighed deeply, "I will still need to marry soon and marry well. She deserves a mother, as does my son. Now, if only there was a woman that would have me, eh?" Corryn began to walk away, and then paused once again. His eyes darkened as he regarded Phalan. "If something should happen to me tomorrow, I want you to take Limosa to White Harbor. My cousins will treat her well. Make certain she gains everything that is mine. I don't want her at Leaning Stone. She's vulnerable there. Promise me." "I promise, Sir," said Phalan - and then he frowned at someone beyond Corryn. "That load's too heavy for that girl ... where's she bound with it?" On turning, Corryn could see a kitchen drudge, making her way across the field with a large pail of slops - doubtless for the pigs who had been set to root in the woods beyond. Phalan had a chivalrous streak - already he was preparing to go and help. The girl, tall and slender in the moonlight, looked back at the Knives' camp from beneath her hood and retreated to the shadows, as if she did not wish to be noticed by the band of Manderly men. Corryn smirked and slapped his friend's broad shoulder once more. "I think you've just met your seventh wife," he chuckled. "Shall I leave you to give her a hand?" He cast a glance at the drudge again as the pair began walking in her direction. As they came to the tent where Indigo's vigil was taking place, the Old Wolf parted from his friend. "Do remember to learn her name before you lose your heart to this one, eh?" he laughed, letting Phalan pursue the object his new infatuation. As Corryn lifted the tent flap, the serving maid crossed another shaft of moonlight, catching his eye once again. Her hands holding the pail were graceful and slender, not like those of a serving maid at all. And as she struggled under the weight and shifted the pail, the cloak parted to reveal a woolen dress of russet, its hem trimmed with intricate stitching. It looked remarkably similar to a dress Corryn had seen before, but not for many a year. The woman, her face still hidden, set the pail down to adjust her cloak, then picked it back up hurriedly as Phalan continued to approach her. In her haste, a silky brown curl slipped from beneath the hood. Her long fingers whisked it back behind her ear almost automatically in a gesture Corryn had thought he would never see again, except in dreams. Corryn's breath caught in his throat as he noticed this subtle, but startlingly familiar, motion. His ghosts had finally taken physical form. Hadn't Syndra mentioned a woman bearing Morna's appearance? And now, here the specter had revealed itself to him. As a sailor and wanderer, the River Wolf could not help but be superstitious. He knew by experience that some elements of this world could not be simply explained by a maester's logic. Having just come from the Godwoods to say goodbye to his love could not have been a coincidence. Perhaps his love's spirit was trapped in some purgatory, where the wage of their sins now tormented her. He had to know for certain. Nothing else mattered. He calculated 'Morna's' most likely path and then bolted across the field in a direction to intercept her. He didn't even feel the nettles and branches that bit into his flesh as he ran. All he cared about was getting in front of her, to cut her off. The woman panicked as she saw Corryn running at full speed to flank her. She dropped her pail with a thud and ran, hiking up her skirts to increase her speed. With her escape back to the castle blocked by Phalan, she had no choice but to bolt into the nearby woods. The first branches knocked back her hood, revealing long curly hair under a disheveled scarf. She did not waste time looking back. Having flanked her, Corryn now turned on his heel and sped towards the figure; reaching her before Phalan could hope to catch up. The girl tried to keep running through the underbrush, but she could not possibly stay ahead of the lanky River Wolf. The branches and brambles caught in her skirts and slowed her down. With a despairing whimper and the sound of ripping cloth, she fell over a stump and landed flat on the ground under a sentinel pine. As he approached, Corryn called to her in a choking cry. "Dearheart?" It was only as the words escaped his lips that he realized he was weeping; the salty tears stinging his scratches. Startled by the desperation of his cry, the girl paused in her own frustrated sobs and looked up as he stood over her, his face wet with tears and blood. Her eyes were wide - and blue. Not the deep brown of his heartwife's. "Wolf? I'm sorry," Syndra sobbed, though it wasn't clear what she was apologizing for. With a wounded yelp, Corryn fell back at the shock and raised his hand defensively. He backpedaled too hastily and it was enough to throw him completely off-balance. With a resounding exhale of air, he landed in a tangle on the forest floor. Something hard ended up beneath his head, perhaps a root or rock, and filled his eyes with stars. He lay there, stunned and breathless, staring up at the dark sky and maze of branches above him. "Wolf!" she exclaimed and scrambled over to kneel beside him, no longer caring about the huge rip she'd caused in her mother's dress or the bloody scrapes on her own hands. She hovered over him, biting her lip worriedly and gently touching his head as she looked him over for blood. He continued to lay there for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily. For a singular moment, a blessed moment, he'd thought it was her; his heart, his soul. And in his exquisite anguish, Corryn had hoped he could say, 'I'm sorry.' Sewell's disclosure had blinded him with keen desperation to beg her forgiveness. He'd chased a ghost of memory, not of substance. And now that blind hope had not only been quashed, but he'd frightened Syndra with his idiocy as well. Syndra. Just what in the Stranger's name was she out here for anyhow? The pain lancing through the back of his head helped clear his confusion. Without rising, he wiped the blood and sweat from his face. "One of us has some explaining to do, I should think, Little Bear," he said sadly. "Uh... explaining?" she asked innocently, for lack of a pre-prepared explanation. She dabbed at his bloody cheek with a corner of her - or rather, her mother's - apron and gingerly continued to check his head while managing to avoid his eyes. Fortunately, his gaze never sought hers. Instead, Corryn closed his eyes and pressed his face against her hand. He shivered noticeably, but for a reason he could not reveal. Even after years of storage, Morna's scent still clung to the cloth; the heady mixture of perfume and soaps. Tears reformed at the edges of his eyes, but he willed them away. Too much had happened tonight. All he wanted to do was lay here and forget the world around him. But he had to press forward despite himself. Syndra discovered the bloody patch on the back of Corryn's head just as he shivered against her hand. Maester Sewell had explained the symptoms of shock, and he had also instilled in Syndra a healthy respect for head injuries. She whipped off her cloak and covered Corryn tenderly with it. A wistful smile came across his exhausted features as the cloak touched him. He turned his head so he could have more of it against his cheek. His eyes stared outward, not at Syndra. Indeed, not even at something that could be seen. The injury, although messy and obviously sore, wasn't serious. Clean water and bandages would tidy it up nicely. Even so, the old wolf winced as he opened his eyes, still slightly dazed. "Never mind," he muttered, "Just help me up so we can find some place to hide. I don't care what you've been up to. Let's just avoid the consequences thereof shall we?" Corryn gave her a good natured smile, but his eyes were desperately sad. He looked so much older at that moment, worn down and empty. Corryn might have thought he was okay, but Syndra wasn't so sure. He was acting strangely enough for her to believe he might have a 'concussion', Maester Sewell's term for the more serious effects of a whack on the head. He looked pale and his eyes had lost their shimmer. She placed her palm firmly in the center of his chest. "No. You're not going anywhere. There's nothing we need to hide from," she told him, no longer caring about being discovered. She took off the apron, wadded it into a ball and tucked it carefully under his head, hoping the pressure of his skull would help stop the bleeding. Having done all she could, she stroked his forehead anxiously and worried at her lip. "I should go get Phalan. Will you be all right for a moment?" she asked, obviously not happy about leaving him alone. "No," Corryn snapped and then lowered his voice, settling down. "I'm alright. It's just a bloody bump on the head. I just need to lie here and catch my wind. And don't give me that bollocks, Syndra. There's a reason you're out here, dressed like your mother. I don't care what it is. I'm sure you have your reasons. If Phalan sees you, he's going to wonder what the hell is going on." "So I'll explain," she protested stubbornly. Even through the pain, Corryn let out a satisfied laugh. "I'm sure you would at that." He wiped the tears from his bloodied cheeks. "Just need to catch my wind. Maybe it's best you leave me here. I'll make something up when he comes along." Corryn chuckled faintly, "I'll tell him the lady thought me boorish and knocked me senseless." She smiled faintly, but stayed put. He pulled part of the cloak to his nose and breathed deeply. It seemed to steady his nerves and widen his wistful smile. He noticed her watching him and smiled. "See? Already on the mend. Now scoot." Syndra glanced down at him, then back the way they came, then back down uncertainly, shifting her position like a skittish mare. Then a breeze rustled the leaves of the trees above them, blowing a strand of her hair across her face. She looked up as if someone had tapped her on the shoulder, then turned to face into the wind and breathed deeply. The old gods had spoken. And remembered. Her resolve strengthened, Syndra turned back to Corryn and shook her head resolutely. "No. I won't leave you. I won't. It's my fault you're here and it's my fault you're hurt. I dressed in Mama's old clothes so I could slip out of the castle without an escort. I just wanted to be alone, so I disguised myself as a kitchen maid and went outside. It was stupid. Cook saw me and made me take the slops. I had to do it or she would've known it was me. I tried to keep to the shadows, but Phalan saw me." She looked deep into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Wolf. I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to see me. That's why I ran. I knew you'd think it was Mama if you saw me," she said remorsefully, her hands clasped on her knees before her. "I never meant to hurt you. And I won't leave you. Never." Corryn's determination drained away as she spoke, his eyes brimming again, but for an entirely different reason. He gazed up at his Little Bear with deep pride. Then, with a nod to himself, he tried to rise onto an elbow. The movement came easily much to his relief. The fall had only damaged his pride for the most part. Seeing his color starting to come back, Syndra reached out to help him this time, instead of holding him down. His hand sought her chin, brushing her skin with his thumb. His smile brightened at the connection and, for a moment, one could almost see the youthfulness of yesteryear beneath the dirt and blood. "You humble me with your words, Syndra. I could not have asked for anything else." His fingers extended to brush back her hair, so he might see more of her face. The gesture brought the hint of a smile to her lips. "It's my fault, Syndra," he admitted. "I was… chasing a dream. I owe your mother an apol…" He cut himself off; his eyes downcast with shame. "I owe her so much," he corrected. "I should have known better. But I have been so empty my wits are muddled and cloudy. She gave me a clarity I have rarely known in my life. And I needed that more than anything. Seeing you…" Corryn turned his head away and sighed. "You didn't hurt me, Syndra. You are incapable of it. I am just a lost fool." She studied him in silence for several long moments, a realization creeping into her consciousness. Two years ago, Edlyn had made a comment that Syndra had denied vehemently. Now she wondered if it might have been true after all. Could Wolf really have been in love with Mama? She was married, true, but that didn't mean he couldn't have had feelings for her, even if he didn't act on them. Could she have been that impossible, unattainable love he always spoke of? It made sense, really. The thought should have disturbed her. Instead, it just made her sad. For him. Without warning, she leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead, then pulled back and looked into his eyes. "You should go see Mistress Odette," she advised gently, surprising even herself with her directness. "She made you happy, Wolf. I remember. Chasing ghosts will just make you miserable." Corryn smiled beneath her kiss, his tension easing away at the contact. He let out a sad chuckle and shrugged. "I do need to apologize to Mistress Odette, but…" He gazed into her eyes, the smile faltering. "When did you become so wise?" Hazel eyes glanced down and then back up, different somehow; not discontent, but something else familiar. "I'm sorry. You've always been the wise one. I just haven't listened as well as I should. Never was good at that." He gently brought her hand to his lip and kissed her fingers, one by one. "I'm sorry, Syndra," he whispered, but did not elaborate. She smiled fondly at him, her best friend. There was nothing to forgive, as far as she was concerned. She reclaimed her cloak and apron, then offered a hand to help him up. "C'mon. Let's get you back to your camp. Limosa's really going to hate me now." "Heh. She is a tad overprotective, that one," Corryn smiled. He accepted her help, pushing himself to his feet. He wobbled slightly, but recovered just as quick. As he faltered, she reached around his waist to steady him, only letting go when she was certain he wouldn't fall over. He retook her hand, squeezing it softly. His mischievous smile returned and lit up his face. "Alright then. Let us swear that this night's peculiarities remain between us, shall we? I think it for the best, don't you?" Syndra grinned up at him, relieved to see the sparkle back in his eyes, and squeezed his hand in return. "Yes. That would definitely be best," she agreed with an enthusiastic nod. When he was ready, she led them back through the woods toward the tournament field. She watched his progress protectively, allowing him to lean on her as much or as little as he needed. At the edge of the clearing, though, she stopped, regarding the distant camp warily. "If you feel up to it, perhaps you ought to return to camp alone. I'd rather Limosa not know I was involved in this. I'll follow the edge of the wood and come in the postern gate. I want to avoid Father, too," she whispered with a little wince. "Yes, that might be for the best," Corryn admitted. "And I'm fine. It's not as bad as it looks, honestly. But Limosa won't forgive me. Or you for that matter, if she thinks you're involved. I think she realizes…" He bit his tongue. "Well, anyway, be on about your mischief. And make sure your father doesn't find out whatever it was you did. I can only protect you so much. "There is a secret path just behind the tournament grounds near the left tower. You should be able to squeeze through a crack in the wall there easily and it'll bring you in near the pond and from there you can crawl up under your mother's window. I doubt that way will be watched with all the activity in the courtyard." Syndra quirked a suspicious eyebrow, wondering how he knew that, but deciding it was better not to ask. He smirked broadly, scratching at the blood now caked to his cheek. "I love you, Syndra," he said suddenly. "Never forget that." He ruffled her hair as he had a hundred times before and then limped into his tent to face the music that was Limosa. She watched him go, dumbfounded, a look of intrigued uncertainty crossing her features there in the shadows. Finally, the brush rustled and she was gone. |
