Playing Feyvourites

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Slightly out of breath, Sheryl comes to a stop outside the compound. She may have been a little too enthusiastic with her dash across town but reading Baine’s letter had been the spark of hope she hadn’t known she was looking for.

The sentries she had encountered on her last visit are gone, the red stone archway open and the courtyard beyond brimming with activity and noise. Under Red’s sharp, watchful eye the new recruits are running drills, straining and grunting in the warm spring air. The door to the smithy is thrown wide open and Sheryl fancies she can feel the heat pouring out from inside even across the yard.

Wearing her most winning smile, she approaches a small cluster of soldiers who are cleaning equipment in the leeward shade of the stables.

“Good afternoon!” she says, giving a little bow. “I was hoping I could see Baine. Would one of you be able to tell him I’m here?”

A human girl with dark, short-cropped hair and a sour expression, patiently sharpening a spear-blade looks up, appraising the halfling, then nodding silently to the far corner of the yard.

Off to the side, removed from the larger group that Red is training, three towering figures are sparring together; two half-orcs and a minotaur standing a foot taller than the other two already impressive soldiers. While Sheryl doesn’t recognise two of them, Baine stands out easily with his flower crown. He’s forgone his Cindermaul for the moment, holding a shield in one hand and a longsword in the other, trying to find a gap in the other half-orc’s defenses while simultaneously bracing against the minotaur’s relentless blows. He seems to be holding his own until suddenly the minotaur feints a blow to his head but throws her weight around at the last second to sweep her padded training hammer into his knees, landing him on his backside with a painful-sounding thump.

The other half-orc sees the halfling waiting and pulls a grinning Baine to his feet, nodding her head in Sheryl’s direction.

When he sees her, Baine’s face lights up further – the broken man she’d seen a few weeks ago nothing but a bad memory. He puts his sword and shield down and exchanges a few words with his sparring partners before jogging over.

“You’re back! And you’ve got your hair done. I like it.”

Sheryl beams. “I wasn’t sure how people would react at first but so far, everyone seems to like it.” She casually tosses her hair over her shoulders. “You are looking very well, too. And so is everyone else!” She turns and gestures to the courtyard. “The whole atmosphere is so different…” turning back her smile is softer but more heartfelt. “I’m glad.”

He wipes a bit of sweat off his forehead and follows her gaze around the yard.

“Yeah, was a rough couple of weeks there, no doubt about it. We’re still coming back from it, getting our feet back under us… but we’ll get there. Come on, let’s go have a chat.”

Baine leads the way across the yard to a bench that looks strangely like it was grown right out of the dirt somehow and sinks down onto it with a heavy sigh and another grin.

“Gods but those two are handing me my arse on a platter. Making me work for it.”

“Sounds like the right kind of training then,” Sheryl says grinning.

As she joins him on the bench he closes his eyes and turns his face to the sun for a moment, still smiling to himself, the scars marring the side of his face at odds with the peaceful expression.

“It’s all done, Sheryl. Khingo Khan is dead, Taff is safe. Varis is back. No more deals.” He turns to look at her, a little incredulous. “Can hardly believe it.”

“I’m so glad to hear it, I truly am. I had only a peripheral view of what you all were tied up in,” She looks at the sky for a moment and then back to the half orc. “But everyone is back where they belong and,” she eyes him up and down, a sly smile spreading across her face, “someone got a promotion, didn’t they Baine? Or should I say,” she sits up straighter and announces, “Ser Baine of the Cinderwoods!” Sheryl winks at him, playfully.

He covers his face with his hands and laughs, both pleased and embarrassed. “Oh god, shut up.” Across the yard, Red looks thoroughly unimpressed and spits on the ground.

“Yeah, that... That happened. I didn’t... Honestly, it didn’t even like, occur to me that I’d get a title? I was just hoping to be sworn in. But fuck, I’ll take it!” Baine laughs again, like he can’t contain it, like there’s so much happiness inside him he doesn’t know what to do with it. “What about you though? Where did you go?”

Sheryl looks at him and the positive energy he is radiating. She thinks for a moment and then decides on the truth.

“I went back home, to the Summer Court. I had made a promise to Queen Titania to return after a year and a day,” Sheryl says softly so only Baine can hear. She watches him to see his reaction. “I grew up there, see, in the Summer Palace. It’s my home. But I had to make a bargain with the Summer Queen in order to come here the first time. I couldn’t go back on my word.” She looks off to the side, the memory of her return to the Court playing through her mind as she says, “For a word once given, cannot be broken.” There’s a beat. “Especially not to the Queen of the Fae,” she finishes, looking at Baine, the other, unspoken message clear in her words.

Sheryl brings her harp up and lightly, softly, plays a few notes as she continues, watching her hands, her face tranquil. “I brought back stories and songs. She loved them all. She listened with rapt attention to all I told her and…” Her hands stop mid chord progression and she lays them across the strings of her harp, quieting the music.

When she looks up to Baine again her expression is serious. “Are you aware of the disturbances happening across the Planes?”

Baine’s eyebrows, which had been climbing steadily up his forehead, drops down again as he frowns a little.

“Mate, there is so much disturbance and so many planes. Which one in particular are you talking about?”

“I’m speaking of what’s been happening since the war in K’ul Goran “ended”. Of the Vanguard and the Seals they are trying to break in order to open some form of Infernal Gates,” Sheryl explains, a little confused. “But there are other disturbances?”

“Well, I’m not the best person to ask but there’s this whole thing with the Yuan-Ti and ‘The One Serpent’ god-thing and the Astral plane, and when we were in Phlegethos and offed Khingo there was this rift into like... A starry sky? But the stars were all wrong, like, they weren’t ours.”

He shrugs a little and doesn’t look overly concerned, despite the news.

“Ever since I came to Kantas it’s been disturbances here and Fey games there and someone starting a war and fiends coming up to start feuds… I’m not even surprised anymore. There’s always gonna be something. Like, don’t get me wrong, I will help fuckin’ deal with them, obviously, I’ll be first in line, I think I just… Have faith? That whatever comes our way, we’ll deal with it. All of us. Together.”

He chuckles at himself. “Fuck, that’s cheesy. Whatever. Hey, if we’re lucky it’s all connected and we can deal with it all by killing one big thing.”

Sheryl studies the man before her, how his outlook has changed. It gives her hope for what she wants to do and what might be on the horizon. Her eye catches on the sunflower pendant Baine wears and her eyes widen momentarily before relaxing. It’s not the same… She shakes her head at herself.

“That would be lucky, wouldn’t it?” she says, a half smile on her lips. Sighing, she leans forward. “A year ago this was all new to me. I barely knew anything. I see what you mean though, there is always something. Still, it worries me.” She clenches her fists together for a moment then releases them. “It helps having friends beside you who’ve got your back. Who will help you fight to keep the balance.”

Sheryl sits back, turning to face Baine, tucking one of her legs underneath her so she can sit a bit closer to the larger man. She speaks gently, concern giving her eyes little worry lines.

“How is Varis doing? Where… was he?”

Baine’s face falls, just a little. There’s still a smile on his lips, and his eyes are reassuring, but there’s a sadness he can’t hide.

“He’s okay. He was, plain and simple, in Hell. We all swore service to the Sanguine Rose and when he died–” Baine’s breath hitches, just a little on that phrase, “that’s where his soul went. It took its toll, obviously, but he’s back. And he’s gonna be okay.”

The half-orc shifts his gaze from Sheryl and looks across the yard towards the Grandmaster’s quarters.

“As a matter of fact, why don’t you ask him yourself?” He nods his head to a door on the far side of the yard. “I reckon I should get back to Kam and Yelka. Title or no, Red will still tear me a new one if she thinks I’m slack– Ah, fuck. Too late.”

An earthy brogue rings out across the yard.

“Hey, Ser Morningwood – if you’re finished with your little tete-a-tete, maybe you’d like to grace your comrades with your fucking presence? Is your girlfriend joining in too, or has she just come to tie a favour on your lance before the joust?” This last is accompanied by a gesture that leaves little doubt what she means.

Sheryl lets out a peal of laughter that sounds like bells. Wiping her eyes of the tears she waves over to Red and says, “He’s all yours, Sir!”

The dwarven woman mutters something Sheryl is glad she can’t make out, and goes back to her recruits.

Turning back to Baine, expression becoming sober, Sheryl says, “If it’s not too much trouble, I would like to speak to him.”

Sheryl looks over at Varis’ door. Her gaze lingers on it for a moment before shifting back to Baine. She places a hand on his forearm and hums a few notes, closing her eyes slightly. When she opens them she takes her hand back and says, “He will find his strength again, Baine. We all will help him.”

Getting up from the bench with him she continues, “Now go show them how a knight can kick some ass.” She winks at him, her smile a little mischievous, and waves as she heads over towards the Grandmaster’s chamber. Baine rolls his eyes, grinning, the same look of pride and embarrassment coming over him once more. He winks back and heads off.

Across the yard, Sheryl’s knock is met with a brisk invitation, and she pushes open the heavy door, surprised to find the windows within all unshuttered and the room filled with spring sunlight. Beside the unlit hearth, Varis sits on a simple stool, frowning at a complex three-tiered game board. The myriad carved stone pieces are scattered across all three levels, and several seem to have already been removed, arrayed neatly beside the board. There are considerably more of the red than the black still in play.

As she enters, the half elf glances up, the line between his brows deepening momentarily as he takes in the unfamiliar figure before him. Then his eyes light on the harp at her side and his expression clears. Standing, he gives her a brisk nod.

“Well met, Sheryl. What brings you here this day?”

“Well met, Varis,” she says, and bows slightly. “I just returned to Kantas and heard the news of your return. I wanted to check in on you and…” she gets a little shy all of a sudden, “make sure you are recovering well.” She comes a little farther into his rooms, looking like she was going to say something else but then doesn’t.

He returns her bow, with stiff formality.

“Thank you, I am. You have been sojourning in the Summer Court, I understand?”

Sheryl raises an eyebrow but nods and smiles. “I have, yes.”

Now that she is closer, she takes a moment to really look at the man before her. Physically, he seems much as she remembers, though an ugly scar now puckers the skin from just above his right eye to the middle of his left cheek. He is dressed simply, in a black tunic and breeches, the insignia of the Order emblazoned in red on his left breast. There is a stiffness to him, perhaps even a sense of unease, though she might be projecting that. His jaw is tight, and the lines around his eyes seem chiselled in granite.

The silence hangs in the air between them for a moment longer than is comfortable, until a third voice breaks it – rich and high, with an unmistakable air of cold command.

“What, no introduction, Godslayer? Hell has roughened your manners, it would seem.”

For the first time, Sheryl notices the figure sat opposite the Grandmaster. The woman seems an inverted reflection of her host – where Varis is simply dressed, she drips wealth. Jewelled rings adorn every finger, her intricate braids glint with silver beads and precious stones, and the velvet doublet she wears is sewn with pearls. Even her seat is gaudy, the rich upholstery wildly out of place among Varis’ utilitarian furnishings.

She stands, unfolding from the armchair like a spider, head and shoulders above the half elf, and eyes Sheryl with amused disdain.

“Another of your soldiers, Grandmaster?” The derision is palpable. “This one is a little shorter than the rest, though just as capable, I’m sure.” From the edge of the table she lifts a small pouch. It clinks gently as she tucks it inside her dress.

“I will take this as your concession, and spare you the humiliation of another turn.”

Varis nods assent, and she gives a lazy wave as she makes her way from the room.

“Tomorrow then, Godslayer.”

As the door closes behind her, the half elf lets out a long breath, giving Sheryl a half-apologetic grimace. He gestures to the recently vacated chair.

“Will you sit?”

She looks at the armchair, how it clashes with the room, casting a curious glance at Varis.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your game,” she says. Setting her satchel to one side she sits in the chair, keeping her harp close to her. She gives the closed door a cool look before she turns back to Varis. “I hope my visit isn’t an inconvenience. I realise I probably should have checked if now was a good time to visit before just barging in.”

“You did not interrupt. As Shen intimated, I had already lost. She was merely waiting for me to realise it.”

Sheryl relaxes a little more with Varis’ words.

“Ever learning and strategizing. That’s truly admirable,” she says with a kind smile. “It’s good to see you.” She pauses. “I’m guessing Baine told you I came to visit as often as I could before I left?”

The crease between his brows returns momentarily.

“Ser Baine and I have had little opportunity to speak since my… return.”

He pauses for a moment, a shadow passing over his face.

“Nevertheless, I thank you for your visit. I do not doubt it was of some comfort to…” he trails off, seemingly unable to finish the platitude. His jaw tenses again, and he seems to be wrestling with something, then he shakes his head and looks up, eyes tight and dark.

“Thank you.”

Sheryl’s heart breaks a little, seeing the shadows that flit across his face, but she does her best to hide it. Be strong. You came here with a purpose. Help him, like you told Baine you would. She pulls her harp up to her lap.

“Every day I could, I visited, to play music for you. I tried to reach out to you with my song. I had never tried something like it before but I felt like… it was the only thing I could do to help them… to help you. That maybe, if the winds were right, you would hear it.”

Sheryl looks at him, and the gem in her circlet gives off a soft golden glow that reflects in her eyes. Its warmth is comforting.

“I’m not sure if you heard me then, but if you would like me to… I will happily come here as often as you’d like to play for you. Music is more than sounds, more than notes plucked on strings. It can reach the deepest parts of our souls… it can help heal...”

She plays a few chords of a song, the same one she had played the first time she came to see him. At the mention of souls though, she sees the slightest shiver pass through him, and his eyes flick to a point in the room beyond her. He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again they are clear and cool.

“A generous offer, and one I am sure Baine would thank you for. Alas, my indisposition has left much that must be attended to and little enough time to see to it. Time, as they say…” he trails off again, eyes going distant. With a shake of his head, he looks up again to meet her gaze, managing a polite half smile.

“Perhaps when I have resolved a few things, there will be time for music. Until then, I must beg your leave.”

He stands, a little too briskly.

“Varis,” Sheryl calls out to him as she stands too and he seems to pause. “A living being needs nourishment for the body, but it needs nourishment for the heart too. Beautiful things, expressions, feelings...” She moves towards him. “Without these, the heart wastes away.”

Standing before him, her head tilted slightly as she looks up at the stoney face of the half elf commander, her own expression conveying deep compassion, wishing, hoping to reach him.

“Music can be a powerful source of healing for the heart.” She reaches up and places her hand over the insignia emblazoned on his tunic.

They stand there, suspended in time, Sheryl searching his face, trying to see the past the walls he has put up. After a moment she pulls her hand back and steps away, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she turns towards the gaudy armchair to gather her satchel and harp. She hesitates for a moment before she turns back towards him, her expression more earnest.

“I came back because I felt there was work for me still to do here in Kantas. There are disturbances across the Planes – more than I initially realized it seems. ‘There’s always going to be something.’” She half heartedly chuckles, shaking her head.

“We don’t know each other very well, and your impression of me is probably of an immature and inexperienced, wannabe hero-” Sheryl holds her hands up to forestall any interjection but also to let it be known she may be wrong. “-but I’ve seen what you do. How much you take upon yourself. It’s admirable, inspiring even. I just hope… You have a responsibility to the people here. But you also have a responsibility to yourself. To heal.”

Sheryl starts to head towards the door, opens it, but pauses and looks back at him.

“We are here for you, Varis.”

She departs, leaving Varis alone in the sunlit room, a frown creasing his brow.

“Thank you,” he says softly to the empty room, staring into the cold hearth. Then he shakes his head as though to clear it and goes back to his work.