"The Adventures of Tanwin Scathach: Chapter 2: Last Good-byes" by Mary Lynn E Longsworth

Weaving her way through the moving mass of pages, staff, and moving tables, Tanwin held tight to her uncle's sword-gift as she made straight away for the doors to her unit's dorm. The thought of packing held in the forefront of her mind, followed in close second by wanting to show the gift she had received to her fellows in the unit, as well to her best friend, Bran Godswin. She had little doubt that the entirety of the Citadel would be out in the Quad enjoying the festivities this day, along with some of the notables from the surrounding town. It would be a very lively and enjoyable fare! By evening, though, all would begin to float away into their separate groups to do their separate things from gambling games to bawdy songs, maybe even sleep, or not. It was a good thing that for tonight being in the dorms by the ring of ten was not a requirement. Food and drink made one quite sociable, sociable enough to be up into the early hours of the morning. At least a couple of the graduating fourteen had long-time sweethearts to make their farewells to, while a couple more would probably find short-time sweethearts to make their farewells to as well. For a moment she chuckled to herself at the thought, wondering who would bungle things up or be late for the roll call in the morning, and then suddenly she stopped.

Stepping in through the great oaken doors that marked the main entrance to the dorm building, she suddenly felt a kind of emptiness strike her. She was leaving, and although it was only for a year, she felt like part of her life was being taken from her in the form of her friends, colleagues, and the familiar places. Tomorrow she would leave the place she had called home since she was four and go out into the world, but she did not know which she feared more, being forgotten, or maybe never being able to return. She tried to ignore her thoughts and feelings as she made her way down the busy hall to her unit's wing, catching a glimpse here and there of squires and Chivaliers with their heads together laughing and talking amongst themselves. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last time she felt a painful kind of alone-ness at being the only young woman among all these young men, the first and eldest of the female squires. She had no liberty like her fellows, even with her heart.

She forced her mind to turn towards her goal, towards Bran. He always had a good joke at hand, and she needed to hear a good joke right about now. She needed her best friend to make her laugh. At least that was what she was trying to convince herself of as she strode down the hall. Although she had already seen him earlier in the morning, a deep-seated drive pushed her to see him again, to find him. In her mind's eye she could see his curly brown mop, his laughing blue eyes, and his round face so quick to smile, and suddenly the world shifted.

The heavy oak doors to her unit's dorm wing seemed different as she pressed them open, the carved dragon moving like silk under her hands sending chills of sensation up her fingers. Golden light from the setting sun spilled in through tall windows, bathing the long room with its twin rows of beds and wardrobes in an ethereal brilliance, warming it in an almost holy light. The room seemed silent to her as she strode towards her bed, each step suddenly making her more aware of her body as if her flesh had just awoken from a kind of deep sleep or numbness. This was not the practice field where she felt the strength of tight muscle, firm stances, and drilled routines. Instead she felt the light brush of fabric over her thighs, the gentle snugness of the bodice beneath her tunic, and the sudden breath of cool, chill air that caused her skin to prickle and rise. The warrior was slipping from her this night and it unnerved her to feel it.

Deaf to the world around her, she slowly and gingerly settled her uncle's sword-gift onto her bed. Using her training, she tried to focus on the sword, to shake this feeling as if the real world had suddenly turned into a dream. Taking a deep breath she looked up to see who all was in the room.

What she saw seemed unreal to her, if only because she thought most of them would be in the quad by now celebrating. Instead, bathed in the ethereal golden light, the members of her unit made their way single file down the line towards her with friendly smiles and encouraging voices. They gathered around her, their voices happy, but muffled to her; she could not seem to understand them. Their words lost on her. She smiled at them as best she could in her confusion, nodding at each in turn before another male figure caught her eye.

At first in the strange light, she could not tell who he was, the brilliance of it seeming to blur the edges of his form. Even as he grew closer, and more into focus, she did not recognize him as one of her unit. A lean, tightly muscled man with close dark hair, and firm jaw that was lightly dusted with a days-growth of stubble, he did not even look remotely like any of the other students at the Citadel, let alone the staff. Still, he came forward unhindered by anyone, moving with ease and self-assuredness until he eventually stopped at the foot of her bed. Leaning against one of the thick four-poster pillars that held up the canopy and curtains of her bed, he stared at her with smoldering blue eyes and an ever so slight of a smile until the name clicked. 

Bran Godswin.

Tanwin was shocked. She hardly recognized him. Gone was the mess of curly locks that she had tousled firmly, tied knots in, and occasionally dipped with ink when he was not watching. The shortness of his hair took away the illusion of his youth and cherubic face, giving it a harder, more experienced edge. She used to tease him about being smooth-faced as well, that he would be perpetually boyish and unable to grow a beard, but the sign of growth now silenced that. Dressed in black garb, Bran now stood before her as a man, striking, alive, handsome, alluring, enticing. After tonight, she would be gone a year and a day. After tonight, she would not have to worry about causing an uproar if she chose someone to give her love to, perhaps even her maidenhead. No one would fault her for that, and no one would be better than her best friend of almost a dozen years...since they had first met.

"Oh, gods, what the hell am I thinking!" Tanwin threw her face into her hands, rubbing her face and eyes vigorously, and convinced that she was seeing things. She had to have been seeing things, especially considering that she was thinking things, and such things they were! She wondered if this was the woman inside of her surging to the surface with vengeance, and if she should not first go see her aunt about this before she did something foolish. Meanwhile, her blood seemed to burn within her, whispering to her that it was time, plying her with the image of being in Bran's arms in that special way only those in love knew.

"Would someone be so kind as to bring me a wet wash-cloth and a basin of water, please," Tanwin mumbled through her hands, not daring to look up, a combination of embarrassed, overheated, and worried.

Gone were the other squires and pages, and Bran too. In their place was silence, and darkness, and the single man in black from her dreams!

He wore a gray-black cloak that stretched to his boots. Even in the windless hall of the dorm it seemed to flow and billow as if a living beast. With cowl drawn Tanwin could not make out much of the man’s face other than his eyes…and they were silver! Like diamonds in a midnight sky they stared back at her, as if straight to her soul.

"My dear Myfanwy Tammerllyn Cadwalder," the man said, using her given name again. He took a step towards her, his boot echoing throughout the hall. "Oh how you had hoped this night would be different, yes?"

"Who are you? Why do you call me that?" was all she could bring herself to say at first, her voice foreign to her, her tongue unwieldy in sudden confusion. It was as if she had stepped out of her world into a place muffled and unreal, it was almost as if she were drunk. Her nerves sang of magic in the air, though, heavy, powerful, and capable of anything. What alarmed her most though was hearing her long-lost name being spoken in open familiarity as if by a loved one who called her by nothing else. Mafanwy Tammerllyn was a secret name, a soul name given to her at birth by her mother to keep her spirit safe from harm. Beyond them and the gods, no one else knew her secret name, her given name. She hadn’t even told her best friend.

"How you had hoped to lie in a naked embrace with your lover, Bran," the man continued, taking another step towards Tanwin. "And how once, just once, you could feel the love that your destiny has stripped from you."

"He is not my lover, he is my friend" she replied her voice thick and heavy even to her, wrapped in the folds of this strange illusion. She spoke the truth but her body still sharply reminded her of other desires. "And if this illusion is your doing, you are cruel beyond measure."

The man stopped only a few paces from Tanwin. She could smell him now. It was the scent of a man, the smell well-worn leather tinged with sweat and confidence.

The mysterious stranger flicked a single wrist, and uttered words that Tanwin did not understand. What she understood though was the meaning, a spell. Her Uncle’s sword lifted from her bed and floated softly towards the man. He held out his hand and took the blade, brandishing it before him. This one was no stranger to such things as martial weapons, of this Tanwin was certain, and quietly the man admired her Uncle’s blade.

Tanwin made no move to stop him. Magic-users were not something easily trifled with, especially the experienced wielders of the craft. More dangerous than them, though, were those that could handle weapons just as easily as their magic. The hairs were starting to rise on the back of her neck.

Tanwin winced and shuddered, folding her arms and hands up close to her chest protectively as she looked in silence for a moment at her uncle’s sword. "It is mine," she said flatly, something of anger and resistance sparking deep within her and building a fast-moving fire in her belly. If he had damaged her uncle’s gift she would never forgive him.

Gently she adjusted her self into a subtle defensive stance, her feet a little wider than her shoulders, as her hands moved to her hips. Her body was moving in the memory of the combat field, a way that had been drilled into it so resoundingly it was second nature; in it she found her own power and reassurance.

"I would kindly ask that you please replace that sword you have undamaged to where it lay upon the bed from where you first took it." The words flowed slowly, but with crystal clarity from Tanwin’s mouth. "Then would you please explain yourself: how you think you come to know me, the strange name you addressed me by, and why it is you not only attempt to needle me with the name of my best friend, but damage my favorite sword as well." She looked hard into the silvered eyes of the stranger as she spoke, trying to keep her voice calm and even. All she could do was pray to whatever gods were listening that she not only wasn’t getting too cocky, but that they’d help her, and that she’d survive this odd experience, whatever it was that was going on.

Tanwin fought the urge to take a step backwards, considering the stranger’s approach as something of an unspoken personal challenge. Or was it that she could not will her body to move? She was not sure. Either way, she returned his gaze as best she could eyeball for eyeball. If this were a test, she was going to pass it, and with flying colors to boot. His truthful insight about Bran had landed a painfully deep barb, and raised her ire. Her sense of confusion and instability in this uncertain situation did little to help, in fact, they were almost making things worse.

"I wonder why it is you haven’t answered my questions?" she replied with a slight terseness in her tone. She was fighting with all her might to maintain the professional attitude that was to be expected of a squire of the Citadel, but finding it to be a near uphill battle. Here stood a man borne from the fringe of the rare dreams he repeatedly haunted, standing so intimately close that she could feel his body heat radiating from him. His presence was nearly overwhelming her in its closeness, and his scent, although not unpleasant, seemed to fill the air. It was as if the entire world conspiring to remind her of the fact that she was healthy woman in the blossom of life, and all the while she was fighting to remind herself that she was a squire, a soldier, "one of the guys." For all the time she had been here she had fought not to be seen as a girl among the boys, but as a participating member of a unit training to be Chivaliers, knights, and officers. Of all those at the Citadel only a handful had ever seen her in anything but her academy-issued clothing, let alone a dress. And even though her hair was a little long, she kept it the same style as most of her male counterparts, straight and tied off at the base of the neck. She had done everything she could to blend in, to be seen as a capable squire, and not as a young woman.

"Fear not your day of judgment for there is hope. No destiny is set, no curse irremovable. Have faith in who you are, trust your instincts, and forever follow your heart. I can tell you no more than that."

In the midst of holding the inner-woman at bay, the soldiering side of Tanwin suddenly looked up in disbelief at what it just heard. On the one hand it was elated that someone had voiced hopes that the curse could possibly be removed, and that Tanwin would live, but telling her to follow her heart? It was like giving a four-year-old an ancient mage’s wand to play with! Granted, loyalty, courage, and fidelity were affairs of the heart, and good ones at that, but she had a woman-side to deal with, and this was turning into a whole other matter.

Tanwin blinked and rubbed her eyes, wondering if indeed Bran had cut off his curls or if the whole thing had been an illusion, but gave up and looked down at the sword her uncle had given her still laying on her bed.

"I dunno," she said quietly, tilting her head to the side with a kind of positive uncertainty, "but I think I will be."

Not caring a whit about what he looked like, Tanwin suddenly wheeled around on her best friend and hugged him as close and as hard as she could without crushing him. She still felt shaky, uncertain, scared. Like every other time before, since they were kids and got frightened by storms and nightmares, she hung on to Bran, making sure he was real, the world was real, and everything was safe. It still was not uncommon for either of them to wake up the other after a particularly bad dream. It was what being friends was all about.

Bran returned the embrace just as strong, knowing that whatever it was that troubled Tanwin would come out soon enough.

"Remember that blood oath we took when we were eleven?" She asked, still holding him for the moment. She chuckled at the long ago memory of the dour physician grumbling over them with their stitched left hands in bandages. They had been absolutely serious when they had made the oath, unfortunately, they had been a bit too serious then they should have been and the cuts had run too deep. Although faded, after all those years they still bore the scars of their childhood escapade. "Remember how we said we would be friends forever, never hold back any secrets, and always be there for each other in a time of need?"

Bran nodded at first saying nothing. This time it felt different. Whatever troubled Tanwin was something far worse than a simple dream. "Yes," he finally said, his voice distant and dry.

Tanwin released Bran from her bear hug, taking a step back. "Well, I need to talk to you before I leave for assignment tomorrow," she said trying to keep her voice light. "Don’t worry, it’s not the sabbatical yet, I’m just being sent out with Hillsfar. Hey, and maybe we can track down some good mead. I hear that this was a great year for the bees so the mead should be excellent. I still have to pack, though, and I want to see Master Vangal about a good scabbard for this sword. Oh, and I need to see Master Peraduer, too." Her mind was starting to focus again on reality, and the things she needed to do before she left for her sabbatical.

Bran frowned at mention of Tanwin’s assignment. "Yes, Myrig told me you were going on assignment with he and Carver. I wish I could come with you…" Bran’s words trailed off as he averted his eyes momentarily from Tanwin’s.

"The big mouth," she muttered irritably. "I wanted to tell you myself. No doubt good old Myrig will run me ragged with sword drills while we’re away, especially when he finds out about my uncles gift." She motioned to the sword on the bed. "Carver on the other hand...," she shook her head. "I wish you could come, it would be a marvelous time. We’d have such fun. Being out of the Citadel, going to a new city."

Tanwin felt herself rattling, doubting that Bran was blind to something being amiss, but she wanted to put on a good show for anyone else who was in the dorm at the moment. Besides, what she was saying was the truth. Just to be sure he got the message though, she did something she had not done before.

Leaning forward for a moment, Tanwin’s lips brushed Bran’s ear as she whispered, "My name is Myfanwy Tammerllyn." Her heart was nearly beating in her ears as she moved back. Never in her life had she told anyone her secret name. Beyond her mother and herself, Bran would be the first to know. She only hoped that he would understand both the meaning of the name in its secrecy, and the significance of her telling it to him.

Bran gave Tanwin a puzzled look at first, not sure what to make of this new revelation. The young squire stood in silence for a long moment, darting his eyes back and forth as if to see who might have overheard Tanwin’s comment. Quite unexpectedly, however, when he turned back to Tanwin he lunged forward and kissed her. It was an awkward kiss, not like that from a practiced lover, but it was passionate and Bran held Tanwin close to him.

Tanwin did not resist. Within a heartbeat her initial shock turned a liquid heat within as she found herself in Bran’s arms hungrily devouring and his sweet kiss, pressing herself against him as if her body would melt into his. All thoughts had flown from her mind, and the soldier within had gone abruptly silent, replaced by the woman she had for so long tried to ignore. She did not care even care a whit if everyone and their second cousin saw her in Bran’s embrace so long as they did not take him from her. All she wanted was Bran and his kiss.

After an eternity that ended too soon, Bran pulled away, looking into Tanwin’s eyes for some sign of approval.

For a moment Tanwin stood there, her eyes closed, her fair-skinned face flushed with rosy color, and a delicate smile upon her reddened lips.

"I…I’m sorry Tanwin, I don’t know what came over me. I know we agreed to forget what happened but…" Bran trailed off, a defeated look on his face. "I fear I may never see you again."

"Don’t be sorry," her husky voice was almost unfamiliar to her own ears as she unconsciously licked her lips. It was the woman within speaking now, letting the words flow from her heart like a healing river. Slowly opening her eyes, she found herself looking upon Bran in a changed way. Her best friend had become something more, and it brought a fresh blush to her face. "Have no fears of what may be, just enjoy the now, and what will be."

"Besides," she reached out her right hand and lightly caressed Bran’s stubbled cheek with her fingertips. "You kiss far better than Torrell Windhollow did at the tournament, and for a much better reason. I don’t know if you realized this, but he almost knocked out my front teeth when he kissed me after the joust." She almost laughed at the memory of the tourney in her noble parents’ city, but for the look on Bran’s face. Friend, shield-brother, and newly dubbed Chivalier, Torrell Windhollow had won a tough bout of jousting on the field and in his notoriously overzealous joy, he had given Tawin her first kiss. Another knight later disciplined him for it, though, which later involved a few days’ worth of recovery in the infirmary, and a fair amount of healing salves and clerical ministrations at her parent’s residence. All present from the Citadel agreed to never speak of it, not just Tanwin, Torrell, and Bran, but the escorting elders present, Chivalier Donigal Hillsfar, and Chivalier Maelogan Cadwaladr. Thusly, Tanwin and Torrell saved face, though for awhile he did all he could to steer clear of her, giving her wide berth until she assured him that she was not angry at him and all was well.

"When Carver told me you were in here…and said I should come see you I thought that was odd. Seeing you in here though I thought maybe…well, I thought you might be waiting for me."

Tanwin’s eyebrows raised for a moment as she traced an idle finger over Bran’s soft lips. "Carver, hmm? Yes, that is quite odd of him." She smiled feeling an almost malicious streak wash over her for a moment. Wouldn’t it be lovely if he had planned somehow to hurt her only to find that it had been turned into something wonderful. Or maybe not. She wasn’t sure about him any longer, and hadn’t been so for years. He had his own ways about him. "I will have to be sure to thank him for sending you here. Perhaps, he does have a seed of mercy in him still and sent you my way thinking that I would no doubt be in tears and need to be comforted."

Before he could speak, Tanwin place her fingers lightly on Bran’s lips. "It’s all right. My uncle called me on the carpet to address certain issues about my studies, but it’s all right now. He even gave me his sword to carry as my own." She smiled gently again, the woman within her still in her veins as she leaned forwards and lightly kissed him on the lips again. "Everything will be all right," she murmured, looking into his large blue eyes.

A soft cough from somewhere within the dorm echoed off he walls.

For the first time Tanwin noticed that several of the other squires and pages in the room were now staring in shock at the two. It wasn’t everyday that two squires kissed you know.

"Have you all forgotten that I’m a girl," she smiled at them, hands on her hips and almost laughing. "This is an academy, not a monastery. None of us took vows of neither chastity nor celibacy. Do you not agree with me, Oran Bleth?" She looked across the room to her elder by two years, a man just shy of becoming a Chivalier, and someone well known for being lovingly devoted to a townswoman. There had even been rumors that he would soon be asking for her hand in marriage, or if that was too much, that she would be handfasted with him. A handfasting would allow them to live together for a time, thereby giving her the chance to decide either way if she wanted him as her own for the rest of his natural life or not.

"Aye, Tan," he smiled with an approving nod of his great blonde head. "I agree with ya ‘bout the vows, but you a girl? Aren’t you supposed to be a woman or something?" he teased with a laugh. "Ya didn’t go through the rites and the training of the womanly arts with your lady aunt and the priestess for nothin’ ya know. All yer missin’ is the dress and the attitude! Ya been locked up with us here fer so long I woulda thought you were tryin’ for all the world to be a man or sumthin.’ Did you really think you had us fooled?"

Tanwin blinked, stunned. Her greatest worry had never really been about how her uncle would react if she had fallen in love with someone. He had never said anything about her not having any intimate relationships, and there were no rules against it. Her biggest fear had always been how everyone else would react. All these years she felt she had been walking on ice, consciously building up the image of being just one of the unit, part of team. She was a soldier, a shield-sister, someone they could rely upon to be there to talk to and protect their backs, not someone that would be a lover. She wondered if the only one she had been fooling was herself, and she felt exposed and more the fool for it.

"Would you care to dance?"

The voice seemed distant, and Tanwin hardly realized it had been spoken to her. In fact, only when Bran repeated himself did she realize she had been lost in her thoughts.

"Uh, Tanwin. Did you want to dance?" Bran shuffled nervously, a little embarrassed by all the attention the two had suddenly got.

She smiled brilliantly at him with a twinkle in her eye, "But of course!"

Tanwin secured her Uncle’s blade in her footlocker and returned with Bran, arm in arm. Once outside, many heads turned and looked in surprise at the couple approaching. Some smiled, some frowned, but all in all it was the other Chivaliers Tanwin noticed. They all looked on with approval.

"Why do I get the distinct feeling that our Chivalier shield-brothers knew exactly what was going on between us before I did?" she muttered, still smiling. She knew full well that although they would not admit it, the men of the citadel talked as much as the women; gossip did not discriminate between genders, let alone species. Either pointed or round, all ears around here heard equally as well on some occasions.

The celebration lasted on into the night, and Bran kept Tanwin’s arm for most of that time. He seemed surprisingly attached for someone who had kept at such a distance for so long. Over the course of the evening Tanwin was approached by every squire, every page, and many a Chivalier. All gave their congratulations and wished Tanwin and Bran well in their upcoming sabbaticals.

"Bran, I didn’t know you were leaving too," Tanwin said during a quiet time of the night, taking a pull of her mug of mead. She tried to act nonchalant, but she doubted that she hid the disappointment in her voice very well. "Where are they sending you?"

Bran kicked at a loose rock, averting his eyes from hers. "Ewloe, on the Alun River. There are some settlements there that are in need of fortifying. I’m also to train the local militias."

"I wonder if I could be sent after you," Tanwin replied quietly. Her heart was sinking slowly. She glanced away, feigning at fidgeting with a loose bit of something on the hem of her tunic so that he would not see the look on her face. She knew her face could not lie as well as her tongue, at least not to him. It had been her biggest downfall in playing cards, everyone could tell what kind of hand she had just by the look on her face. Meanwhile, Bran was leaving, gone for a year and a day, and she soon after into the great wide wilderness that was the world.

Bran simply nodded, but said nothing. It was a fact he too had evidently invested some thought in.

Tawin looked up at him. "I thought...I hoped you’d be here when I got back from Caerfyrthen. That we’d have some more time together before we had to leave. One more day." She smiled softly with tears in her eyes. "You know, I’m already missing you, Bran, and you haven’t even left yet. I’m just so scared.

"Oh! Listen to me! I’m just horrible!" She shook her head sharply, looking down at the hem of her tunic that she had been wringing in her hands. "Graduation’s supposed to be one of the happiest nights of our lives and here I am worrying!"

Bran smiled, "Ewloe is north-east of Caerfyrthen. Maybe if they send you in my direction…you could come visit me for a day? We could have time to ourselves."

"And divert you from your work?" she laughed, her face suddenly brightened by the thought. "Oh, hells yes! I may just jump in and lend a hand for a day or two. It would be an excellent excuse to give Hillsfar to head your way, and besides, it would be the truth. I don’t think there’d be anything remiss in another squire from the Citadel coming to help out her beloved."

Tanwin stood up sharply, wobbled a little and then promptly sat down with a thump and a bit of an embarrassed giggle. "Mead’s a bit strong tonight," she laughed, and then stood up more slowly. She held out her hand to Bran, smiling with a gleam in her eye. "C’mon, handsome, I need to go find Mihangle. I’ve got an apprentice mage’s brain to pick. Oh, and remind me, I need to find my masters, too. If Bowmaster Peraduer and Mastersmith Vangal think they’re going to get away without a good-bye hug from me, they’ve got another thing coming. Besides, I need to ask them for a scabbard. Oh, yeah, I need to talk to Chivalier Hillsfar, too, need to find out when we’re supposed to leave so I know how late I can sleep in." She grinned like a kid let loose to play and winked.

Bran frowned, "You know the answer to that question Tanwin. When was the last time Chivalier Hillsfar wasn’t the first to morning meal? It would not surprise me if the man did not sleep at all. And still he always looks rested."

Groaning, she shook her head and looked skyward as if pleading to the gods. "Yeah, don’t I get all the luck! Squire to a Chivalier who’s the consummate morning person, and devoted breakfaster. If I miss it, I think he may notice. Perceptive as a hawk, that one. Yeah, I wonder if he ever sleeps. Hmm, perhaps I’ll find out just how he does it." She shrugged, "Ahh, well, it’s no real never mind."

Bran stood and took Tanwin’s arm in his own. "M’lady, may I escort thee?"

"But of course!" she smiled brilliantly with joy in her heart.

Locating Bowmaster Peraduer was easy, it was getting him away from the ladies that took timing and effort. Something about the wisdom of an elf mixed with wine and song made the ladies swoon. Seeing Tanwin approach, however, the elven bow-master parted the crowd and walked towards his favorite lady of all, arms outstretched to accept her hug.

"Ah, young Tanwin. I am pleased you came to see me tonight. I hope you hold no ill will towards me for not defending you this eve. Your Uncle would have had my head had I intervened."

A look of bafflement briefly crossed her face, followed by a weak smile and half-hearted chuckle. "Defending me, Master Peraduer? Against what?" She glanced around the walls as if looking for something, as if saying that there was nothing within to defend her against, but there was that niggling feeling. Perhaps he had known about her visitor, perhaps he knew something about the silver-eyed man. She rested her eyes again on the bow-master elf, her face sober. "What is it within these stalwart and thick walls that would be a danger to me, here within the Citadel?" she asked quietly, the joviality gone from her voice, replaced by the weight of stone.

"Oh!" She exclaimed. It had suddenly dawned on her like a brilliant star as to what the bow-master had been talking about, and wave of relief washed over her. Peraduer did not know. "The meeting with my uncle! No, no," she waved a hand. "There was no need for you defend me, Master. It was all my own doing, my own fault, but fortunately things have been sorted out for the better. I go off tomorrow with Chivalier Hillsfar to Caerfyrthen on assignment, and Uncle has gifted me his sword. I was hoping on asking Master Vangal if he might have a scabbard that I can use to carry it."

Tanwin grew still and silent, looking at the elf that she had known most of her life, and then found herself hugging him once again. "I will miss you," she murmured. "I’m so scared. It’s almost like I’m leaving my parents’ house again, only with a larger, more loving family, but at least I’ll be coming back."

She remembered when he had come with her uncle to her father’s house after a festival when she was four. Her family had been in upheaval, and the whole household was in a state of confusion and fear, even her beloved nanny would not stop crying. Growing afraid herself, and fearing it was all her fault, she had gone to her father’s study in hopes of finding reassurance and comfort. Instead, she found out how right her fears had been. As she stood outside the study door, she clearly heard the raging argument going on within between her father and her uncle, their voices almost shouting as her name was repeatedly brought up. Then the door flew open, and there they stood in the doorway, both still in their rage, unknowing of her presence until they looked down upon her. Though it had been aimed at each other, their fury when they looked upon her nearly pinned her to the spot. Pure terror got her little legs moving, and although she could barely see for the tears spilling from her eyes, she had made up her mind to run as far away as she could and hide.

It was Peraduer who had found her, wrapped up in a blanket under a couch in a room that was never used, sobbing and sniffling. He had coaxed her out with gentle words, cradling her bundled body in his lap as he sat on the floor and rocked her, singing softly in his native elvish tongue. She listened to him contentedly, her crying stopped as she lightly traced his delicately angled face with her small fingers, playing with this pointed ears, and then fidgeting with his long red hair until she finally fell asleep from emotional exhaustion. He never left her side after that, not that she would let him, really, though the feeling seemed mutual. Wherever she went he went, and wherever he went she would follow. At meals they sat beside each other, and at bedtime he sang to her, teaching her a few words in his language and how to count. He even slept in her room, though she found it a tad odd that he did it while sat against the door to the hall. He had become the most fascinating and gentlest person she had ever known, even going so far as to teach her how to use a child-sized sword and bow. He had become her guardian and protector during those last days at her parent’s home, and during her journey to the Citadel. For although she could not recall what had happened, it was explained to her years later as to just why she had been forced to leave her family’s home. It had been for her safety really. She had disappeared during the three-day festival previous to her uncle’s arrival, and although it had been believed to be kidnapping, there had been no ransom note. A search had been put out for her, but to no avail. She was later found just after the festival’s end, sound asleep in her own bed with two red marks upon her left cheek that she bore to this day.

All in all, while she viewed her uncle as her uncle, to her Peraduer was more a father than just a mentor.

"I have to stand up for my own fights now," she broke from her reverie and took a step back. "For all the protection that those around me can provide, there are things of which they cannot shield me from, nor can they always stand in my place." Peraduer had been there to hear of the curse when she had finally told her superior officer, Leftenant Elsdon and the mage-apprentice Mihangel. Now that her uncle knew, there were only four aware of what she faced.

"Oh, on a lighter note," she smiled, taking Bran’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze before looking back to Peraduer. "I thought..." She blushed a little, looking flummoxed. "Well, I don’t know how to put it, exactly. I mean, it’s not as if you don’t already know Bran."

Still uncertain, Tanwin glanced about, not really sure if all the world should hear the news as of yet, but feeling that she absolutely had to tell her mentor. She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "I’m in love with Bran Godswin with all my heart." Then stepped back and took her beloved’s arm with a smile before turning her luminescence back towards her mentor.

Peraduer crossed his arms and frowned, looking on to Bran with a disapproving glare. It had always been the old elf’s greatest gift that his stern gaze could have a startling effect on any it fell upon, even Marcan at times. Bran shrunk back for a moment, not sure whether to turn and run or beg forgiveness.

Before Tanwin could object to Peraduer however, the elf’s frown transformed to a wide grin. "You Bran, are a lucky man. This young lady is like a daughter to me and for you to have the honor of her affection is a prize indeed."

The smile faded, replaced by a menacing stare. "Should you hurt her though, or betray her, it is my bow and sword in which you will answer to."

Bran nodded and smiled. "Yes sir, of course sir."

Mastersmith Vangal was equally easy to locate simply by his hearty laughter and proximity to the ale keg. As Tanwin came into sight the stout barked out a loud cry and threw himself at the young girl. He was clearly drunk and nearly missed Tanwin. Fortunately the young squire still had her wits and caught Vangal just prior to an embarrassing incident between the large dwarf and three ladies of the court.

"Aye lass, ye be a sight fer sore eyes this eve. Didja know that when one consumed twelve large mugs a this here ale it makes one rather…eh, what’s the word, drunk!"

"Drunk? You? No!" she laughed, knowing full well that although her dwarven teacher was getting smashed now, he would be absolutely sober by morning. Though she was not sure whether it was because he was a dwarf, or because it was just him that allowed him to do that.

She hugged him close, the red bristles of his beard rubbing against her cheek as she patted his burly back. "Wish me luck, Master? Tomorrow I leave with Hillsfar, Myrig, and Carver for Caerfyrthen." She then added with a whisper, "And tonight I give my love to Bran."

Vangal teetered back and forth a minute, closing one eye so that he could get a better look at just one Tanwin. A smile grew on the Dwarf’s face as he looked from Tanwin, to Bran, and then back to Tanwin.

"Oh ho, so it’s love ye seek this night eh? Well I wish you two lovebirds me best. Just make sure ye be getting enough rest fer tomorrow too!" the dwarf grinned and chuckled, slapping Bran on the shoulder.

Tanwin stepped back and smiled merrily, a twinkle in her eye as she took Bran’s hand into her own again. Like Peraduer, she considered Vangal more like an uncle than a teacher. From him she had not only learned the fine art of speaking dwarvish, she had also learned how to forge weapons and armor. "War’s come and go, lass," he would tell her often, "but smithies are always needed!" He also had a wicked sense of humor, for while Peraduer was full of almost ethereal wisdom and logic at times, Vangal was more down to earth and emotional. His motto, "Stalwart and True," always fit.

"So, Master, any suggestions on my future endeavors," she winked. "And come to think of it, do you by any chance have a spare scabbard I could borrow that might fit across my back. Uncle Ioanan has gifted me the family sword, and although I can’t use it yet, I’d like to carry it for good luck."

Vangal stroked his beard thoughtfully for a minute then nodded his head. "Indeed I do young las. Two things in fact. One, don’t master more than you can. Stick to what you know and what you have learned as that knowledge will serve you well. Also, if ye run into a handsome young dwarf by the name of Tor Stonehammer give him me love, he’s me nephew."

Vangal poured himself another mug of ale even though he had a near full one in the other hand already. "I’ll get ye the sheath ye ask fer. I’ll make sure Chivalier Hillsfar gets it to ya."

Vangal threw his arms out, spewing ale in all directions. "Gimme a hug their, me girl!"

With one last hug Vangal said his goodbyes to Tanwin. As Tanwin headed back out into the crowd she spied one more glance of the stout smith. There, upon his cheek, was a single tear. It was the only time she had ever seen the dwarf show any emotion other than his usual jovial self.

Next was Mihangle, who was busy speaking to several of the other mages of the Citadel regarding a spell known as ‘Mage Hand’ and it’s possible uses in combat. When the young mage spotted Tanwin approaching he excused himself from the conversation and approached.

"Ah, Young Tanwin Scathach, how does it feel to have graduated? You are prepared for your journey ahead I presume?"

Tanwin folded her arms and looked at him grimly, normally she would have joked with him, feigned anger and harassed him about telling her uncle what she had discussed with the others the night before. Although she had no proof, she had little doubt that his hand has been in her uncle pursuing the truth of her curse, or at least his voice had been in it.. Right now, though, it was not within her to do as she normally would. It was as if someone had let all the joy out for the moment. Looking at Mihangel only reminded her of the concerns at hand, and the reason she had sought him out.

"As best I can be," she sighed, "though I’m sure there’s more that needs tending to." She clasped her hands in front of her and pursed her lips, thinking. "I came to thank you for speaking to my uncle, and to say good bye, but I also came to ask you some questions."

Taking Mihangel gently by the elbow she lead him a little ways away from the gatherings of others where it was more quiet, and she felt she might have some privacy. She gave Bran a nod of assurance that it was all right for him to be there, then turned her gaze once more on the dark-haired mage.

"I need to ask you about magic, Mihangel, very specific magic," she began in hushed tones her stormy-gray eyes looking hard into his sky-blue ones as she spoke, reinforcing her earnest seriousness. "What kind of mage would I be looking at if he could wield a weapon as familiarly as his own magic? What kind of mage would I be looking at that could cast an illusion so clearly it would be like a waking dream to the subject? And how powerful would that magic be if in the illusion the mage could actually touch the subject although he himself was most likely not in the room? What kind of mage can also walk in dreams?

"I had a visitor this afternoon, in the dorms. Though I don’t think he was really there. It’s the same gentleman I spoke to you of that’s been occasionally ghosting around in the back of my dreams, only this time he came to me while I was wide awake at my bedside. He had silver eyes, though I couldn’t see the rest of his face all that well; he had his cowl up. And I think he wore armor too. I can’t be positive, but I thought I could smell leather."

Mihangel’s eyes grew wide, almost as if the man had been slapped in the face. "You…you said silver eyes? Last night he came to you?" Stepping back, he held up an index finger for a moment indicating for Tanwin to wait were she was. Quickly he returned to the gathering of mages and interrupted them, speaking in only a whisper.

As they spoke several of the mages turned back, looking at Tanwin as if she were a horrible abjuration. Finally one of the mages, an elder man, coaxed Mihangel to return to her side.

Mihangel grabbed Tanwin by the arm and led her away, far from prying eyes and ears. "As you know, the mages at the Citadel place wards and detection spells all throughout the school. These are to warn of scrying, conjuring, and other magical practices not encouraged by the faculty. Last night we received a strong sense of magic but could not locate from what. It was as if the entire Citadel was immersed in a magical field."

Mehengel looked over his shoulder nervously. Tanwin followed his gaze and realized the Mages he had spoken to were now gone. "This one you spoke to, what did he tell you? Anything of importance we might use to learn more?"

"No, not really, though I could be very wrong," she felt her stomach starting to churn in worry. "He came to me this afternoon, not last night, but still, he came to me in the dorms. I was awake, Mihangel, I couldn’t have been more so. Heck, I had just left my uncle’s office after the dressing down you saw me go through. There was no sleeping through that!" She shook her head, "No, he didn’t say anything..."

Tanwin felt the color go out of her face as she had recalled the event that had happened just so recently. She rested her hand on Mihangel’s shoulder, hoping not only that she was still in reality, but that she would not topple over as well, feeling her legs go liquid for a moment.

"He said I knew him," her voice was nearly a whisper. "Wondered how things would’ve been different if I hadn’t known him. He even called me by my mother true name. Only my mother and one other person knows that name, and he spoke it as if he knew me, as if I had been using that name all of my life. He said he had come to give me a message, to say that my fate wasn’t set in stone, that the curse may be able to be removed, and that I should follow my heart." She fell silent feeling the worry across her face. "He knew my name." She paused a moment, wondering. "I’m not sure if it’s of any import, but he touched me as well." She held up her hand, pointing to herself, and using her own finger to trace the same trail from her forehead to her heart that the silver-eyed man had, only a little more quickly. "He touched me and I felt it. Now I’m not magic-user or anything, but I’ve never heard even whispers of someone being able to do that."

"Go on your journey young Tanwin but be wary. This man, or whatever he is, he is truly powerful. He has casually overcome our best efforts to detect and deter him…this makes him all the more dangerous. The fact that he wields blade and armor so deftly as well only adds to my concern."

Tanwin nodded. "You are not the only one concerned, my friend. If anything, there’s one thing that heartens me, and that’s that for now I seem to be on his good side. Oddly enough he seems to be more an advocate than a adversary. Still, no doubt he has his own purposes. Well, fare you well. Please send me word if anything comes up concerning this. I will be in Caerfyrthen with Chivalier Hillsfar. And thanks." She smiled. "I know it’s not much, but at least ... well... at least someone else now knows what’s going on. Fare you well!"

Mihangel sent Tanwin on her way with well wishes…and a worried look on his face.

As Tanwin walked away, taking Bran’s arm and moving on, she decided that for her own sense of well being to let the matter slide, and not worry about it until when and if the issue of the silver-eyed man came up again. All she could do was turn the matter over to higher authorities, which she had with Mihangel and the other Mages, and turn it over to the gods. Hard put as she was to do it, she had to admit that for the time being, she could do nothing but wait. The silver-eyed man would do as he liked when he wished whether she liked it or not, she had no way of preventing him from involving her. She did however have the choice as to how she would react, and right now her decision was to go on living her life as was normal.

  In all her searching, however, Tanwin could not locate her mentor Hillsfar and none at the celebration had seen him in some time.

Finally the festivities came to a close, signaled by the ‘cry of the Chivalier.’ Tanwin’s uncle offered one last toast, in honor of the fourteen graduates, and wished them well in their journeys. His last words, although meant for the whole, were clearly aimed at Tanwin.

"…And I say at last, good squires, gods’ speed to you all. Fate has much in store for you in the coming year but know this. So long as this academy stands; so long as I and my fellow Chivaliers draw steel; and so long as god looks down upon us with his countenance…you will never, ever be alone. Chivaliers ho!"

The crowd rang out in unison, sounding out a mighty cry, which rose in crescendo. It was finally done…Tanwin had graduated.

In the throes of jubilation, Tanwin gulped down the spiced mead with her graduating shield-brothers in an attempt to be the first one done. As the last drop went down, she slammed her pewter mug onto the table with a red-faced smile as a wave of alcoholic heat passed through her veins. She laughed when she found she was the first one done, an amazing feat considering that usually she just sipped at the stuff even after it had been well watered down. She grinned like the cat that had eaten the canary and gotten away with it when she saw a few mouths open in amazement. She had even outdone Cedric Hawthorne, a big bear of a young man who towered over almost everyone, and could drink even a few of the dwarves under the table at festivals.

"Damn, Tan! You’ve gotten good!" Cedric laughed, slapping her on the back. He leaned close to her and smiled, though somehow it did not quite seem to reach his eyes. "What’s gotten into you, girl? You’ve never drunk like this before."

She grinned proudly. "Yeah, I know," then sat down with a flop as her legs began to feel a little wobbly and her stomach gurgled in protest, threatening to disgorge the alcohol that had suddenly ingested just as fast as it had gone down. It must have showed, because Cedric certainly seemed to notice.

"She’s turning green," he muttered. "Right. Tan, put your head down on the table. There you go. Now just rest there. Bran, you keep an eye on your lady fair here. I’m going to go get her some water and bread. It’ll soak up the alcohol and keep her from getting sick, not to mention keep her from a hangover. Though, I doubt she’s drunk enough to do that." He shook his head and chuckled. "I’ll be right back."

Resting her head on her folded arms, Tawin took a deep breath and sighed. She was so good at jumping in with both feet sometimes that it just mucked things up. Next to her stubbornness, and she knew she could be very stubborn, she was well aware that her biggest flaw was throwing herself into things whole-heartedly without a thought in her head. There was something though that she did not want to throw herself into, something she had thought of for quite sometime, but had relegated to the back of her mind. This would be the last chance she would have, and she wanted to be sure it was right.

Rolling her head over on its side, she looked up at Bran with a sheepish grin on her face. "Hey, I tried," she attempted something of a shrug.

Bran chuckled and found a seat next to her. Reaching over, he rubbed her shoulders playfully. "You never quit do you, kiddo?"

Rolling her eyes, she smiled. "Nope, but it’s part of who I am, for good or ill. The day I quit is the day I’m dead." A kind of realization washed over her, if she did not ask her question now while she still had a semblance of resolve she may never be able to ask. From here on out life had a greater chance of going awry, changing plans, changing lives, even taking them as the gods willed.

Freeing an arm she signaled for Bran to come closer. Her demeanor had become quite serious in the presence of all the mirth around them, and the nausea had settled and almost dissipated. She took one of his warm hands into her now free one, giving it a gentle squeeze and a reassuringly soft smile. "I have a gift for you," she said quietly. "You don’t need to take it, but it’s something very important to me. I wanted to give it to someone I love before someone else takes it from me by violence as has happened to other women." She was not sure if he understood what she meant, but continued anyway. "You have been my best friend, and I trust you with this gift. I don’t ask for your undying love or devotion. If you find another to be happy with then that’s okay." She smiled softly. "I just want to offer you this gift, though I will not be offended if you do not take it. You are my best friend, Bran, and now even more. I cannot ask for anything than you have already given me. Do you understand?"

Bran looked into her eyes, confused at first. As if hit by an unseen force, it dawned on Bran all at once what Tanwin had suggested. Immediately the fellow squire blushed, turning several shades of red almost instantly. He looked back and forth several times, making sure nobody had eavesdropped on that last bit of confirmation. Satisfied that he had been the only other one to hear it, he turned back to Tanwin.

He gulped hard, forced a smile, then took it back when he realized he could not pull it off. "Um, I, uh…yes." The ‘yes’ he blurted out, causing several heads to turn his way curiously. Bran blushed a deeper shade of red and smiled.

"Sorry Tan, I just never saw that one coming," Bran said, a serious expression upon his face. Gently he pushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. "I am the luckiest man in the whole kingdom just to be sitting here next to you now. My answer is most certainly yes."

Tanwin smiled softly, eyes misting over as waves of relief washed the tension from her body. She fought not to cry, and wondered if Bran would understand what it meant to her. Not only was she loved, and that she knew, but by sharing the giving of her maidenhead with someone she deeply loved and trusted, she knew it would never be stolen from her. Gods forbid that it should ever happen, but she would know the pleasures and joy of being loved before she’d know the pain and horror of being raped. "Thank you, Bran Godswin, you’ve brought more peace and happiness to my heart than you will ever know."

Cedric appeared, interrupting conversation, plunking down a pewter pitcher, and a basket of bread on the table. "Fresh from the oven, and fresh from the spring!" he announced. "Eat at least half a loaf, and drink half the pitcher, and you’ll get to feelin’ better. I can guarantee you that." His word was truth, he had been studying to be a healer and physician, and was still doing so. "But from now on it’s water for you, young lady, or watered down brew. You hear me? I don’t care what you say, you can’t handle large amounts of alcohol, and I hereby order you as your big brother." He flexed his arms, muscles rising impressively under his tunic before he laughed and tousled Tanwin’s hair in good fun. "Well, I’ve got things I need to attend to before calling it a night. You two take care of yourselves, especially you, little sister. Safe journey." With that he wandered off through the gathering of people still milling about in the quadrangle.

"Hmmm, it’s getting a little too chilly for me." Tanwin lifted her head and shuddered. "Want to grab some butter and bread? I’ll get the water and a mug, and we can head indoors. Should be warmer, and we can talk some more since it’s still rather early. I doubt anyone will be heading to the dorms anytime soon." She chuckled at a thought as she stood up slowly, picking up the pitcher of water and an empty mug. "In fact, I wouldn’t be amazed if Oran Bleth didn’t show up tonight, but then again, I don’t think anyone’s paying attention to empty beds on a night like this. Just so long as they’re back and in line in the morning for role-call. Hey, if you want, we can grab a couple of blankets an go up to the top of one of the towers and watch the stars like when we were little?" Heck, they still did it as teenagers and young adults as well. It was the perfect place for them to just talk, or even to just silently sit in each other’s presence. Tanwin had gotten through astronomy, navigation, and orientation thanks to Bran’s tutoring up on top of the towers, and because of it she doubted that she would ever forget her constellations, let alone get lost.

"Well, handsome?" she smiled at him jug and mug in each hand. "By the way, I like the haircut," she added as an afterthought. "It looks very good on you."

Bran grinned, running his hand once through his newly cut hair. "I figured a new look was in order. Of course I was worried you might laugh at it. I’d have to go get myself a nice hat or something till it grew back."

Taking Tanwin’s hand, Bran led the way back to the dorms. It would be their last night together for some time, and both meant to make the best of it.