Post by Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 on Jul 5, 2020 22:53:09 GMT
The night is dark and still. The packed earth of the training yard is frozen solid, lightly dusted with the falling snow. Two brawny figures weave in and out of the flickering shadows cast by the few torches still lit, their breath billowing like smoke around them.
Two greatswords flash and cleave the cold air, always pulling just short of their intended targets. The swords are blunt and both Kamar and Baine can take a few hits but neither of them want to wake anyone else. There is enough screaming in both their minds to break the silence.
1, 2, 3, lunge. 1, 2, 3, 4, lunge, parry. 1, 2, lunge. Riposte.
He is stronger but she has years of experience on him. It’s a good match, keeping both of them from relaxing even for a moment. They spar unceasingly as the stars wheel overhead, even as they tire, as their muscles seize, as their arms ache.
She catches him one last time with her blade to his throat. They stand still finally, panting.
“It’s an orc thing, you know,” she rasps and he tries not to flinch, at both the sword and the topic. He’s still hurting from the recent revelations about his mother.
“What is?”
“The way we can go on. We can bear injuries that leave most warriors face down in the mud and the shit, and we can choose to go on. To keep fighting. We are Relentless. She gave you that, at least.”
Her voice is like the shifting of stone upon stone. She speaks so rarely that he doesn’t dare interrupt her even though her words are like barbed arrows piercing him. She lowers her sword and he follows suit.
“What does it mean?” he asks.
“It means we don’t have to sit down and wait for death to claim us.”
Her eyes are grave in the dim firelight.
“It means we die on our feet.”
Clearing out the barracks takes almost two full days. Baine goes through it all; clothes and gear, letters left behind for occasions just as this, weapons that should have been kept in the armory (for fucks sake, you didn’t need four daggers stashed in your mattress, Jojen), stray mementos and trinkets. Some things are kept, others thrown out or donated. Sheryl takes some clothes and items down to the Refuge.
Baine finds a few of the small beads Kamar used to hold her braids together. Snow helps him fasten them securely into his own hair, into the braids holding his flower crown in place. He will carry his Urzag with him wherever he goes.
He heads over to pick up Frankie, finally, and finds him in the expert care of one Sergeant Grimes. The older man doesn’t say anything when he hands over the leash, knowing there are no words to make it better.
“By any means necessary,” says Baine, “that’s the hardest part.”
Grimes nods in complete understanding with a sad, faraway look on his face. He pulls Baine in for a hug, holds him close and lets him be young and comforted, even if it’s just for a moment.
The door to Varis’ quarters is open, letting a meager breeze in to help fight the stifling heat. There’s the stomping of angry boots on the ground and Baine storms in, stopping with his hands on his hips.
“It’s too damn quiet around here. And it’s not secure - Markas broke in last night without a problem. We’re getting more dogs,” he declares before storming out again.
Pieni drops by and they resume their carpentry lessons. Three of the now empty loose boxes in the stables are converted into kennels, with individual crates large enough to hold war hounds. By the end of it, Pieni is a carpenter in his own right, a master with hammer, nail and knife, and it loosens something in Baine’s chest slightly.
It’s just gone a ten-day when Grits decides to adopt a stray. Whistler barely says a word for days and only bathes under duress, and Baine is highly skeptical until he sees what the kid can do with a blade. He looks like an adult but even Baine can tell he’s painfully young.
The next morning he sits in his watchtower for longer than usual, wrestling with every feeling under the sun, including the small bead of hope growing in his chest like a dandelion pushing through rock.
B.B comes by with a massive basket full of red anemones and yellow evening primroses, Blue perched on her shoulder to keep a watchful eye on any that might fall out. She joins him up in the watchtower where he’s watching the sunset, draped casually in three dogs and leaning his back against a lion.
He introduces her to Asad, the lion who spends most of his time as a statue but enjoys coming to life for scritches and cuddles (and fighting big things). He hasn’t named the two new dogs yet but assures her they will be appropriately fierce and dangerous. One of them is somehow chewing on one of his own overgrown ears and a little of it’s drool is seeping into Baine’s breeches. BB graciously says nothing, just smiles as she sets down the basket of flowers.
She isn’t much for braiding but she adds new flowers to his crown and sits quietly with him, waiting. The sky is blood red when he finally asks,
“Did you see any of it? How it went?”
She shakes her head.
“The portal shut behind them as they charged, the last of us just got through in time.” She takes a breath and thinks for a second.
“But they charged with determination, and they seemed to be at peace with the decision they’d made.”
Baine nods and takes her hand. She gives it a reassuring squeeze.
“Good.”
He makes himself stop after the fourth dog. He knows he has to train them up before getting more. Ben warns against naming them and Baine ignores him wholeheartedly. He has no illusions about the lifespan of hounds sent into war but he is going to treat them right and care for them for as long as he can.
Frankie helps corral them and together they start whipping the new four-legged Squeaks into shape. The compound gets a little less quiet and it’s like Baine can breathe again.
Dakota worms her way into the kitchens in under three days. Grits pretends to be annoyed. Ollie and Bo are like two hulking twin shadows with enough weight to them that they could probably have taken down Yelka herself with only a little help. Baine throws out the lion statuettes again and starts practicing moves.
Moose is bigger than all of them, even Frankie. He solves their security issue overnight.
The sun sets, and rises. They begin again.
In collaboration with BB and Grimes .
Two greatswords flash and cleave the cold air, always pulling just short of their intended targets. The swords are blunt and both Kamar and Baine can take a few hits but neither of them want to wake anyone else. There is enough screaming in both their minds to break the silence.
1, 2, 3, lunge. 1, 2, 3, 4, lunge, parry. 1, 2, lunge. Riposte.
He is stronger but she has years of experience on him. It’s a good match, keeping both of them from relaxing even for a moment. They spar unceasingly as the stars wheel overhead, even as they tire, as their muscles seize, as their arms ache.
She catches him one last time with her blade to his throat. They stand still finally, panting.
“It’s an orc thing, you know,” she rasps and he tries not to flinch, at both the sword and the topic. He’s still hurting from the recent revelations about his mother.
“What is?”
“The way we can go on. We can bear injuries that leave most warriors face down in the mud and the shit, and we can choose to go on. To keep fighting. We are Relentless. She gave you that, at least.”
Her voice is like the shifting of stone upon stone. She speaks so rarely that he doesn’t dare interrupt her even though her words are like barbed arrows piercing him. She lowers her sword and he follows suit.
“What does it mean?” he asks.
“It means we don’t have to sit down and wait for death to claim us.”
Her eyes are grave in the dim firelight.
“It means we die on our feet.”
Clearing out the barracks takes almost two full days. Baine goes through it all; clothes and gear, letters left behind for occasions just as this, weapons that should have been kept in the armory (for fucks sake, you didn’t need four daggers stashed in your mattress, Jojen), stray mementos and trinkets. Some things are kept, others thrown out or donated. Sheryl takes some clothes and items down to the Refuge.
Baine finds a few of the small beads Kamar used to hold her braids together. Snow helps him fasten them securely into his own hair, into the braids holding his flower crown in place. He will carry his Urzag with him wherever he goes.
He heads over to pick up Frankie, finally, and finds him in the expert care of one Sergeant Grimes. The older man doesn’t say anything when he hands over the leash, knowing there are no words to make it better.
“By any means necessary,” says Baine, “that’s the hardest part.”
Grimes nods in complete understanding with a sad, faraway look on his face. He pulls Baine in for a hug, holds him close and lets him be young and comforted, even if it’s just for a moment.
The door to Varis’ quarters is open, letting a meager breeze in to help fight the stifling heat. There’s the stomping of angry boots on the ground and Baine storms in, stopping with his hands on his hips.
“It’s too damn quiet around here. And it’s not secure - Markas broke in last night without a problem. We’re getting more dogs,” he declares before storming out again.
Pieni drops by and they resume their carpentry lessons. Three of the now empty loose boxes in the stables are converted into kennels, with individual crates large enough to hold war hounds. By the end of it, Pieni is a carpenter in his own right, a master with hammer, nail and knife, and it loosens something in Baine’s chest slightly.
It’s just gone a ten-day when Grits decides to adopt a stray. Whistler barely says a word for days and only bathes under duress, and Baine is highly skeptical until he sees what the kid can do with a blade. He looks like an adult but even Baine can tell he’s painfully young.
The next morning he sits in his watchtower for longer than usual, wrestling with every feeling under the sun, including the small bead of hope growing in his chest like a dandelion pushing through rock.
B.B comes by with a massive basket full of red anemones and yellow evening primroses, Blue perched on her shoulder to keep a watchful eye on any that might fall out. She joins him up in the watchtower where he’s watching the sunset, draped casually in three dogs and leaning his back against a lion.
He introduces her to Asad, the lion who spends most of his time as a statue but enjoys coming to life for scritches and cuddles (and fighting big things). He hasn’t named the two new dogs yet but assures her they will be appropriately fierce and dangerous. One of them is somehow chewing on one of his own overgrown ears and a little of it’s drool is seeping into Baine’s breeches. BB graciously says nothing, just smiles as she sets down the basket of flowers.
She isn’t much for braiding but she adds new flowers to his crown and sits quietly with him, waiting. The sky is blood red when he finally asks,
“Did you see any of it? How it went?”
She shakes her head.
“The portal shut behind them as they charged, the last of us just got through in time.” She takes a breath and thinks for a second.
“But they charged with determination, and they seemed to be at peace with the decision they’d made.”
Baine nods and takes her hand. She gives it a reassuring squeeze.
“Good.”
He makes himself stop after the fourth dog. He knows he has to train them up before getting more. Ben warns against naming them and Baine ignores him wholeheartedly. He has no illusions about the lifespan of hounds sent into war but he is going to treat them right and care for them for as long as he can.
Frankie helps corral them and together they start whipping the new four-legged Squeaks into shape. The compound gets a little less quiet and it’s like Baine can breathe again.
Dakota worms her way into the kitchens in under three days. Grits pretends to be annoyed. Ollie and Bo are like two hulking twin shadows with enough weight to them that they could probably have taken down Yelka herself with only a little help. Baine throws out the lion statuettes again and starts practicing moves.
Moose is bigger than all of them, even Frankie. He solves their security issue overnight.
The sun sets, and rises. They begin again.
In collaboration with BB and Grimes .
