They wanted him buried. They wanted to entomb him with honours, let his corpse rot in the dark. Ser Carolet was a free rider in life. He had seen every corner of the continent. He deserved to see them again, he deserved a pyre. His old eyes may never again witness the distant seas and his hands would never stroke a mare’s winter coat; but maybe his ashes could. Maybe he could claim some summer breeze and float along the world, chasing the sunset for eternity. It seemed an epilogue he would enjoy, at least more so than spending eternity in a single damp tomb.

The soldiers seemed adept at death. They took his corpse to a separate building and allowed him some measure of dignity as they prepared him for what would come next. He was nearly a different man by the time they finished. They lined up his beard and cleaned out the mornings breakfast from its matted tangles. They washed the blood and mud from his face and stitched close any unfortunate openings. There had been more than she knew. He must have been verging on the edge as she fought at his side.

It should have rained. It wasn’t right for the sun to shine only after he was gone.

They erected a stone monument in his honour and lay his arms beneath it. The soldiers dug out an opening in the dirt and the villagers formed a stone and brick mausoleum around it.

Then they lay him to rest, but she didn’t see. She wasn’t there. Ash could mourn, or she could avenge.

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She rose from the cellar with her black hand wrapped around Tobias’ throat. She dragged him on his back into the town square. He spluttered and begged all the way. She’d have done it silently there, had the miller’s daughter not come upon them. She saw the prisoner and his morbid keeper, and the blade in her hand. The daughter ran away without a word to Ash. “Elder!” She frantically called. “Elder!”

The whole village would soon be upon her. She hadn’t intended upon a spectacle, but she decided to wait. She tossed Tobias to the ground and rested her boot against his face.

“Sai-Weleg! What is this?” The Elder called. He limped with an uncharacteristic pace towards her.

“Closure.” She simply replied. She sheathed her dirk and drew her spear. It lay at his heart and pressed hard enough to draw a first blood. The little droplet spread across his fine silk shirt. He cried a beautiful cry and begged her absent mercy.

“Ashtik, stop this!” The Elder demanded. “He may be of worth!” He insisted.

“I’ve interrogated him, he’s worthless. The people call for his blood, is it not my duty to give it to them?” Ash said, twisting her spear slightly.

“This is not duty; it’s cruelty! Aye, the people may call for his death and you may have to grant it, but it should be done solemnly. It should be a burden to take a life, Sai-Weleg. Even one as wicked as this.” The Elder pled. The others came up behind him, first the smith and his wife then all the rest.

“So I'm supposed to pretend I don’t want to do this?” Ash sneered.

“You’re supposed to try and find another way. If it is the only route, then so be it. If he knows something of value; then best be it that he lives.”

“Very well,” she whispered, “Tobias. Earn your life with pretty little words”

The little runt couldn’t manage a whole sentence. He stammered of hidden gold and promises of betrayals. Every word he spoke was as worthless as his life. Each breath he drew was an insult to the good man who drew no more; to the sons of the smith; to her home.

“He knows nothing, so we move to the other thing. Ask your people their will.” Ash ordered. She lapped her eyes over these men and women who she had known all her life, and who she had never been brave enough to utter a word to. Now she stood almost as a performer, cast in a pantomime, demanding their participation.

The smith spoke first, “blood,” was his whispered vote. His wife doubled the count. Then the miller came and “blood,” slipped his lips too. Not a vote to the contrary came, until a little voice cast her ballot.

“Please,” she said, tears on the word. “No more blood this day. Enough have died.” She was stood close to Ash’s back. Close enough to reach a hand out and ease Ashtik’s grip on her spear. She hadn’t realised that she was digging it further into her victim. Any more and the vote would be redundant. Ash turned to Evara and her little tearful eyes. Had anybody cast such a vote but Evara, she’d have all but ignored it. She realised that her sister’s mercy weighed equally in her mind with the bloodlust of her entire village. The one contrary vote had introduced something vital into Ash’s first taste of righteous fury; she had doubt.

Her fleeting certainty left her a hollow frame before this crowd. Her voice quivered with each attempted rebuttal and protest. She wanted this man dead, of that there could be no doubt, but was it right for her to kill an unarmed prisoner? Was vengeance sufficient cause for murder. It would be murder, after all. She had no excuse of battle or self-preservation. This would be optional, a choice to take a young man’s life for no reason aside from whim.

The pure and holy fury of a chosen one; destroyed in an instant by a single plea.

The benevolence of her sister, the malice of her people, or some third path. The wise and experienced path.

Ash looked to the Elder. Where he had looked at her with such disgust a moment prior, now he looked at her with something else, not something kinder but something older; he looked at her with pure understanding.

“What is your vote, Elder?” Ev finally asked on Ash’s behalf.

He looked at the sisters, younger first with a warmth of pride and elder next with tragic duty. Temujin couldn’t as much as glance at the young man on the ground. He looked, instead, at the red sky of mid-day. A deep breath steadied him in his pre-emptive regret. “Blood.” He finally whispered with such appalling shame.

One vote, no matter how righteous the voter, could not drown out the will of the all. Ash raised her spear high above the criminal and enacted swift justice, or whatever history would call it. Evara whimpered more than Tobias. She jolted back, but she didn’t run away. Ash could see it in her eyes, there was no hatred. She didn’t blame Ash. She didn’t hate her, but the pity in her gaze was so much worse. That Evara looked at her like a victim, rather than the killer she truly was now, caused so much more grief. It was yet another silent scar she would bury this day.

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The villagers were silent; the day doubly so. They had grown quickly accustomed to the crackle of the pyre wall. Without it, the world felt a little more barren. Her family had returned to their home for a brief while, but it had no burning walls to protect it. The bandits had pillaged everything of value and destroyed everything else. In a way, it was a blessing. They truly had no reason to stay. The journey to the baron’s keep would be that much lighter without the weight of the past at their heels and on their backs.

They met with the rest of the villagers beneath the gatehouse. Through great efforts and a notable lack of grace, Ash had managed to avoid her parents and what pointless words they had prepared for her. She all but clung to Evara as they trudged along in the little crowd of fresh refugees.

“Sparrow!” She heard the baron call from ahead of the party. “Come, join me!” He reigned in his horse and ordered a soldier to dismount his own. Ash spluttered some polite refusal, but Ev made better of her. She pushed Ash by the arm towards the horse despite her silent protests.

“You are welcome to ride along, young mae.” The baron said to Ev.

“Thank you, my lord.” Evara bowed before hopping behind Ash atop of the horse.

“I can get you a mount of your own, should you wish?” He offered.

“No thank you, my lord. I’m afraid I'm inadept at riding, and these are war horses; I’d wager they are far from gentle.” Ev said.

“I see,” the baron chuckled. “You seem a well-spoken young mae. Might I assume, despite that, you are kin?” He asked.

“My apologies, my lord. I haven’t introduced myself.” Ev said with a beaming smile. “I am Evara, Ashtik’s younger sister.”

“You are unnamed?” He asked as though it were a shock.

“For now, yes.” She admitted. Ash could see her masking indignation. Her naming was still a sore spot, though it ought not to be. Ash was only named at her seventeenth summer, Evara was yet to see her fifteenth.

“I see it now, Evara the wise and graceful.” The baron smiled, unaware of his accidental offence.

Ev faked a laugh as she said, “you are too kind, my lord.”

“I believe my wife will thoroughly enjoy your company, young Evara. Alas, I must make my business with your sister.” He said. Ev simply bowed her head and subtly stroked Ash’s back.

“Sparrow-knight, when we arrive at the keep, I will have you placed in my guest halls. As soon as you are freshened and dressed, I will introduce you to the bishop. There are certain courtesies that will be required of you when you meet her, but my steward will instruct you in this. She will determine what that mark means, and we will act accordingly.” He said much less formally than he had to Evara.

“In your guest hall?” Ash repeated.

“Aye, you’ll be my guest while you stay at the keep regardless of the bishop’s declaration.” He answered.

“The villagers?” She asked.

“Will be given appropriate accommodation within the walls. A temporary refugee camp by all likelihood. It will not be so dire as it sounds.” He said.

“I cannot, Ser Maren.” Ash simply replied.

“You cannot?” He repeated in annoyed disbelief.

“I believe what she means... My lord,” Ev interrupted, “is that it would be improper for her to lie in luxury while her fellows from the clearing live in squalor.” Ash nodded in approval.

“Tough.” The baron simply replied in a stern tone.

“But the Elder, at least...” Ash tried to protest.

“Temujin will be placed in an appropriate apartment as befitting his age and station.” Maren interrupted. “I have room enough for your entire family as befitting his age and station.” Maren interrupted. “I have room enough for your entire family to stay as well.” He finished.

“I-” Ash tried to refuse, but Ev sent a silent dig into her ribs.

“She would be honoured to accept, my generous lord.” Evara answered in her place.

“Good.” Maren grunted. “You are a hero, Sparrow-knight. Be you a Champion or no; there will be a place for you at my court.”

“I burnt men alive.” Ash quietly replied.

“Then you understand war. Carolet was a good man, good men die in the dirt. People like us, Sparrow; people like us forge empires.”

They trod on for a time. Evara and Maren swapped polite tales and small laughs. Ash focused on her horse instead of them. It was a strong mare, but one that had seen too many battles. It stepped too cautiously; her eyes scanned every little disturbance. She never had a name, but she had been branded as a youngling. A searing iron pressed her fur and left a brown bolt on her rump.

“Ash.” Evara whispered in her ear. She startled and looked to the baron.

“I don’t mean to pull you from your ponderance,” Maren laughed, “I only ask if you are much for the drink?”

“No.” Was answer enough till Ev nudged her to elaborate. “It makes me dizzy.”

“Ah, a featherbelly!” Maren cackled. “A week in my keep and I'll have you drowning bears in your cups.”

Ash managed a smile and mercifully Evara took back the conversation. Her sister seemed born for nobility. She spoke and laughed with the grace and curtesy of a princess. So opposite where they, yet so completely did Ash adore her.

They trotted through the mud for a while longer before yet another hairy little man dragged her attention. This time it was a friend. Vamet trudged alongside her, his hand cart in tow.

“White hair! Ashtik!” He called out. He drew the attention of all around and a soldier even blocked his route from the baron.

“Vamet?” Ash called back.

“Might I beg a moment?” He asked. The soldier looked to his liege who simply shrugged him away.

“Of course.” Ash said. He slipped on a patch of mud but managed to catch himself. Vamet ran to her left side and smiled a salesman’s smile.

“Evara, such a pleasure! To you too, my lord!” He said in his strange way.

“Hello, Vamet. I hadn’t realised you were in the area.” Evara nodded.

“Vamet helped rally some of the women during the attack.” Ash explained.

“Yet you did not call upon me?” Ev said, bristling. It uneased the little man, though his smile didn’t wane.

“It is just...” He coughed. “Well, where I am from; we do not allow children to fight. It seemed improper to ask you to take up arms.”

“So it would have been more proper to die in my bed?” Ev snipped.

“This is a false dichotomy. I am sorry for the taken offence but not for the taken actions.” He said with a strained meekness. Evara simply grunted him away.

“Ashtik.” He said. Vamet made a performance of bristling the whisps of hair that could generously be described as a moustache. His strange velvet garb caught every speck of mud as he trudged along. “I owe you payment, my lady.” He finally panted.

“Payment?” Ash questioned. His smile lessened, but somehow seemed much greater for it.

“Indeed. For services rendered.” He said as if it was final.

“I have done no service for you.”

“Nae, but you have! I contracted you to dismantle the bandits that did violence upon me.” He grinned.

"I seem to remember denying that job.” Ash replied.

“And yet the services were rendered, and compensation mustn't be forsworn!” He

drew out a rubber sack from his cart and fumbled within for a moment. He was very delicate with it, whatever lay within must have been his most valued possessions.

A moment passed and a click sounded from within, then a wicked simper reached his plump lips.

“Here we are. Payment, as agreed upon.” He said.

He held, in his well-manicured hands, a small black leather-bound tome. The edges, gilded in faux ruby. A strange device lay on the side. It was the ‘scrawler’ he had shown her in the eternity before all of this had happened. She had forgotten all about it.

Vamet held it in a velvet sheet, allowing only Evara to touch it. He handed it to her with the care of a mother handing away her babe for the first time. Evara took it with more curiosity than care.

“A tome?” She whispered.

“Indeed. One of your own whims.” He said.

“My own whims?” She opened the tome and saw the blank parchment within.

“Take the scrawler.” Vamet urged.

“This?” Evara asked as she took up the strange metal tube. She shrieked in pain as her soft hand came upon it. Her handprint stained in red against the golden shaft. “Ow?” She annoyedly grunted, shooting a miffed glance to the little salesman.

“Try it.” He excitedly urged.

“Is it going to do that again?”

“No,” he chuckled, “it is simply the magics learning your touch.”

“Magics?” Ev repeated, annoyance giving way to awe in an instant.

“Simple magics, but used in a new way.”

----------------------------------------

Evara’s first instinct came to the page. The first word written in her long and awful tale. The genesis of what would be. The alpha to the inevitable omega. She wrote, “Vamet’s got a big nose.” And so, her tale began.

She looked at the red scratchings settle within the page. It wasn’t ink, more so the page itself bled at the metal quill’s incisions. “What am I supposed to write?” She asked.

“I am sure you will have tales a-plenty to tell in the coming years, young white-hair.” Vamet bowed away from the riding trio and disappeared into the marching refugees.

“Odd fellow.” Maren said, somewhat too loudly to be mannerly.

It was a silent day beyond that. Maren had the grace to allow Ash her silence, and Evara was much too engrossed in her new tome to allow for appropriate conversation. It seemed she’d fill it before they even arrived at the keep, but the pages just kept turning, almost without end.

They made camp for the night, and made off with the dawn. It was blatant some dread held the minds, and tongues, of each villager as they marched and slept. The soldiers held no such monsters within. The sounds of their drunken merriment and raucous revelry permeated the great nameless forest. The baron made occasional appearances to Ash and Evara, but more so out of propriety than genuine interest.

All-in-all, it wasn’t a terribly interesting journey. Ash made away from the group to make an attempt at hunting, but it seemed all the local game had fled once the army marched. Still, she managed a pair of great hares and gave them off to the Elder.

There was such a beauty within the woods. The stars twinkled delicately through the lilac canopy at night. The sun scorched the scarlet sky through the day, and a gentle rain carried on the wind. It was the third day of travel before Ash fully returned to the little horde. She spent it as she always had, clinging close to her little sister and avoiding all others.

“What are you writing?” Ash finally asked of Evara.

“Should I die this day or the next, my final words shall no longer be spoken to man and friend; but to whispered to wind and legend within these pages.” Evara recited aloud as she scrawled the words across the page. She wrote frantically, almost fevered. She wrote with no regard for legibility. It was as though the words spewed faster from her mind than her hand could manage. She captured each one with reverence before they could be lost to memory.

“That’s...” Ash hesitated, “dark. Are you thinking about death?”

“How could I not?” Ev scoffed.

“You aren’t going to die, Ev. I won’t let that happen.” Ash placed a hand on Evara’s shoulder as she spoke.

“You know how these things go, Ash. All the old stories. Heroes and prophesies. The only time you hear about the hero’s little sister is when she’s killed off by the bad guy."

“Well, then. Luck for us,” Ash pointed a finger towards the tome with a slight smile, “you’re the one writing this tale. So give us a happy ending, ay?”

Ev managed a chuckle, though it seemed to go a thousand yards from her lips and her gaze joined along soon after.

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The baron’s hold was no grand castle as she had expected. Instead, it was a simple motte and bailey with a brick manor in place of a keep. A series of wooden walls – not all that much more grandiose than the clearing’s own – lined the area surrounding. The manor sat atop of a steep, muddy hill; while the area at the bottom held soldier’s apartments and some farm huts. It seemed the hold was a singularly militaristic domain, relying entirely on tithe and tax to maintain and sustain. There were a few animals scattered about aside from the war horses roaming the fields. Mostly small stock, chickens and rambents. Quick to kill for feasts, and judging by the blatant culling, a feast was well in the makings. The refugees made their way into the lower walls and settled their shoulder mounted homes in the crimson grasses.

“Sparrow, if you would.” Maren beckoned as Ash made her way through the gates.

“I must find my family.” She replied.

“Of course. I’ll await you by the inner gate.” Maren said.

They waded through the burgeoning camp. The villagers helped one another set up tents and flames while some wives set to a communal kettle. The children seemed unbothered at the loss of their homes and went about playing in the mud. She passed the miller’s daughter – who shot a lethal glance at the sisters – before coming upon Tilak and Miel. Her mother sat on a stump as she stitched up a torn cloth and Tilak pretended not to be exhausted as he chopped wood for the communal fire.

“Snowy!” Tilak called as his eyes set upon her. He lodged the axe in a stump and trudged towards her. “I’m sorry for everything that was said, truly. I’m just glad you're okay.” He didn’t mask the tears, nor the worry. He pulled her into his shockingly vicelike grip and ran a hand over her head.

“I’m fine, dad.” Ash grunted through his suffocating chest. She felt one arm lift from her and expected freedom but instead found Evara had joined the embrace. Tilak held them both in a quaking hug for a moment while her mother continued her stitches.

“You shouldn’t be working, dad.” Ev whispered.

“Nonsense.” He scoffed. The three parted slowly and Ash saw the mound of split logs Tilak had made his way through. It couldn’t have been more than an hour since he arrived, yet he had done a day's work already.

“It's not good for you, tell him mum!” Ev grumbled.

“He’s made up his mind darling, there's nothing to be done.” Miel warmly answered.

“It doesn’t matter.” Ash interrupted, putting her back to Miel. “You aren’t staying here.”

“What do you mean?” Tilak asked.

“The baren has assigned quarters for us all in his manor.” Ev gleefully told them.

“For everyone?” Tilak questioned. He didn’t seem keen on the idea; Ash knew the feeling well.

“No.” Ash curtly answered. “Just us and the Elder.” The two shared a look that said more than enough. “Don’t make me go alone.” Ash pled.

“I can’t.” Tilak whispered. He stroked a hand over Evara’s head and smiled. “You won’t be alone, though.”

“Why can’t you? You’re too sick to stay here!” Ev insisted.

“We can’t live in some royal manor while our friends rot in this camp. I’d be a burden up there, but I can be helpful here.” Tilak said. Ev looked helplessly between Ash and Miel in hopes that one of them would back her up.

“But... Winter is near, you could die.” Ev whimpered.

“I face the same risk as all our friends, our neighbours. It is my place,” was Tilak’s final word.

“And mine is at his side.” Miel added. “Your place is up there.” She knelt before Evara and pointed up to the manor. “Be greater. Face destiny, my beloved.”

Evara’s little eyes seemed to grow ten times larger. She welled up but didn’t let loose. Miel turned the little girl around and urged her forth, helping her take the first step away. “We’ll be okay.” Miel promised and with it she gave Ev a final little push.

Evara didn’t wait beyond that. She marched off alone towards the gatehouse. Ash knew she didn’t want anyone to see her cry, and that was about the only reason she didn’t turn back to look at them.

“And Ash...tik,” Miel stuttered but was cutoff.

“I know, I’ll take care of her.” Ash near silently said.

“No, it’s - I know you will – but I...” She stammered before collecting herself.

“Ashtik, what I said,” Miel began, looking deep into Ash’s cold eyes, “If I didn’t love you; it wouldn’t hurt this terribly every time you looked at me like that.” She drew a shaky breath. “You... Take care of yourself, Champion. It's a bigger world than you know, and people aren’t always as good as you are.”

Ash didn’t even look at her. She placed a hand against Tilak’s gaunt cheek and said, “be well, dad. If I am Champion, I'll have the conclave find some way to help you, I swear.”

“Don’t worry about me, Snowy.” He winked. “Plenty of life left in these old bones. I’ll outlive the lotta ‘ya.”

She smiled and stepped away with her back turned to the two.

“Miel,” Ash slowly whispered. “Take care of him.”

“Snowy...” Miel tearfully pled.

“Ashtik.” Ash sharply spat. “You call me ‘Ashtik’.”

With that she left and had no idea when she would see her parents again.

----------------------------------------

“Sparrow, at last!” Maren sighed with outstretched arms. She bowed her head in apology and wrapped an arm around Evara’s shoulders. “Just the two of you after all?” He smiled.

“Yes, ser Maren. I’m afraid so.” Ev answered in Ash’s place. He sighed again and looked to Ash.

“Sparrow... Ashtik, you cannot have her speak for you when you meet the bishop. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to grow some balls, if you’ll pardon the expression.” Maren said about as kindly as a grizzled old sergeant could.

“I know.” Ash said. “Will I be alone with the bishop?”

“If she summons a witness, then aye.” He said.

“A witness?” Ash repeated.

“She’ll explain if it comes to that. Come now, let us feast you!” He said, taking a jolly tone.

They crossed the rope bridge up to the manor. It was a thin path, suspended much too high and angled much too steeply. It was more so a ladder than pathway, but once she reached the top it seemed worthwhile. The manor was beautiful. Not in the Maester Veil style, instead it stood several storeys tall and seemed to be made of some strange cast rock. Black beams of wood separated each floor and crossed the walls at equal distances. The topmost floor was made of many white bricks instead of the single constant red cast beneath. Where windows would have gone, arrow slits sat ready for attack. Sentries and guards patrolled the grasses that surrounded the vast manor.

“Welcome to my humble home.” Maren called as he ushered the sisters inward. For once, it was Evara who clung to Ash. She still spoke as confidently and lady-like as ever, despite all but clinging to Ash’s arm.

“Thank you, baron,” Ev said, “It is an honour to be taken in like this.”

“The honour is mine, mae. Tales shall be told that it was within my halls that the Sparrow-knight was declared Champion! The day shall be marked in legend.” He chuckled.

“You seem convinced that I am a Champion.” Ash snickered in doubt.

“It takes an extraordinary man to do what you did, triply so for a young woman! If you aren’t a Champion, you bloody well should be.” Maren said with a strange pride.

“Well that’s...” Evara struggled to find the apt word for her host, “interesting.” She finally elected to say through gritted teeth. Ash simply snorted at the remark and moved past the conversation.

“Hello there!” An older woman called out from the entryway. She was as plump as the baron, though nearly twice as tall. Her frazzled grey hair bounced around wildly as she stepped down to greet the party. Maren hopped onto the balls of his feet and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Allow me to introduce my beautiful bride, the Lady Meg.” Maren said joyfully.

“Hello dears.” Meg said. Evara curtsied in her bloodied skirt to the lady.

“My lady, it is an honour to meet you.” She said.

“Oh, I like this one.” Meg chuckled as she stroked a bit of dirt from Ev’s shoulder.

“I said you would.” Maren laughed. “Here is our guest of honour.” He raised a hand to Ash who seemed like a mouse caught in the eyes of a snake. She stood stark still unsure of how to act.

“I-” was all she could eek.

“This is Ashtik, she’ll yap your ear off as you can tell.” Maren jested.

“Was she... injured in the fighting?” Meg slowly questioned.

“No, I think she’s just terribly shy.” He lightly answered.

“I-” Ash took a breath and tried again. “Sorry, lady. I’m Ashtik Sai-Weleg.”

Evara smacked Ash’s leg at that. “My lady.” Ev corrected in a hush.

“Yes, m-my lady.” Ash repeated.

The Lady Meg looked Ash up and down with an appraising glance. She huffed in what could have been good humour, or sincere displeasure.

“You are to be our honoured guest then, good Ashtik. We must have you bathed before the feast! Please, make use of all our facilities. Our steward will see to your every need.” She finally said with a warm smile. A surprisingly well muscled man appeared from behind her. He stood tall and straight with barely an expression on his hairless face.

“My ladies, my name is Jekib. If you would please follow me.” He politely said in a gravelly voice better fit for a soldier than usher. Ash figured that this Jekib must have been the steward and followed along behind without a word. Ev made polite farewells to Meg & Maren before skipping along behind Ash.

A pair of well-equipped soldiers opened the great oak doors for them. Within, the manor was the definition of opulence. The gold pine struts that held the roof aloft were each adorned with their own masterpiece. Some held paintings as tall as Ash, some held weapons of ancient and intricate designs. Most were simply painted with all the stripes of the brightest gems. A stark contrast to the red, white and black exterior.

“Excuse me,” Ev whispered to the dark-skinned steward, “Might it be ser Jekib, or some other rank?”

“No, my lady. Jekib will suffice.” He sternly replied with cold civility.

“And simply ‘Ev’ will suffice for me. You seem well made for a steward.” Evara said as she scanned over the man’s back. He clearly shaved his head daily, and kept his beard perfectly pruned. He hid scars beneath silk, though he did walk with a whisp of a limp.

“Thank you, lady Ev.” He said back with the same cold civility.

“Were you a soldier?” She asked as they passed a pair of steel plated statues in an ancient style. Her eyes never fell from his broad build.

“Indeed, likely before your birth.” He beckoned to a hallway and waited for the sisters to pass him by.

“You don’t seem so old as to have retired so long ago.” Ev said with the intention to flatter.

“A soldier retires young, or dies young. I did neither. My retirement was in my thirty-second summer; this is my forty-third.” Jekib said. He seemed completely unaware of any attempts at compliments.

They wound along the red velvet carpet until they came upon a great, green painted door.

“This is the women’s guest halls.” He said. “I may not pass this point. Choose any quarter within, and the maids shall prepare them for you.”

“The bishop?” Ash finally spoke.

“Shall see you during the feast at sunset. I will explain your courtesies beforehand, as to avoid any offences.” Jekib answered with the same monotonous drone.

“Thank you, Jekib. You keep a lovely home.” Evara bowed as Ash opened the great door behind her. Jekib simply nodded his head and marched away. Ev watched him leave until he finally rounded a corner, and she made her way within the wing.

“Ooh, you’re so well made Jekib.” Ash teased as soon as the door sealed them within the women’s wing. “Might I call you Jekib, or rather might I call you on the morrow?” She continued in a cruelly mocking tone.

“What?” Ev grunted, her face turning half to laughter; half to offence. “One of us have to be polite at least.” She sneered.

“Polite, is that what we’re calling it?” Ash laughed. “Come on Ev, he’s ten times your age. It’s grotesque.”

“I was just being polite!” Ev nearly shouted, her voice taking an impossibly high pitch. Ash simply shook her head at the younger before moving on with a disappointed sigh.

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The rooms chosen were just as ostentatious as the rest of the manor. Ash’s chosen chamber had a balcony of its own that overlooked the vast lands under the baron’s dominion. In the centre of the room was a feathered bed, with two dozen cushions and as many pillows at its head. Red silk curtains draped delicately across the black spruce bed frame and sheets of purple satin covered the mattress. A breeze tore through the room, but the massive hearth would easily beat it away if desired.

Ev made away for her own chamber; no doubt it was just as regal as her own. She heard the younger close the door directly opposite from Ash and claim that room to be her own.

“M- My lady.” A timid voice called from the entry. Ash assumed for half a heartbeat, that the voice was directed to some passing noble in the corridor but quickly found otherwise. At the threshold of her room, a beautiful young woman stood with her head bowed deeply towards Ash. She stood, almost shaking, as she awaited Ash’s response.

“Hello?” Ash curiously said from across the room. The stranger took it as permission to enter and moved towards Ash.

“Hello, my lady. My name is Kat.” The stranger timidly said.

“Ashtik.” Ash hesitantly replied.

“Yes, of course.” Kat smiled, though she didn’t raise her head from the ground.

“Can I help you?” Ash finally asked.

“Oh- No... My lady!” She sputtered. “Tis’ my job to help you.”

“Help me? With what?” Ash chuckled.

“I am to dress you, bathe you, and ensure your comfort. I am to be your handmaid, my lady.” Kat explained, finally raising her eyes to Ash for a brief moment. She didn’t reach Ash’s eyes, instead fixating on the blood and mud that caked her armour.

“I’m supposed to be comfortable while you bathe me?” Ash awkwardly scoffed.

“If it is desired.” Kat simply replied.

“It’s not.”

“Of course, but you ought to bathe before you sully the sheets... my lady.” Kat deepened her bow.

Ash felt it true as she caught a whiff of her armour, and the viscera that stained it.

“Very well,” Ash laughed, “I’ll make for the river soon then.”

“The... River?” Kat whispered. “M-my lady, you are welcome to make use of the bathhouse.”

“The what?” Ash dumbly asked.

“The... Bathhouse, where we keep the baths. It is much more pleasant than a river, I promise you.” Kat almost managed a smile as she spoke, thought the strange fear of Ash still gripped her.

----------------------------------------

The bathhouse was the one luxury in this manor Ash was truly pleased with. The warmth of the water, the smells of the soaps. She could have spent her entire life in the knee-high pool, simply floating in the aroma of lavender and steam. Then a group of women arrived, and her peace was shattered in an instant. They entered with a fleet of maids at their tails as they gossiped on the intricacies of manorly life. They paid Ash mercifully little mind as they lay in the communal bath ahead of her. She simply tried to ignore them and continue with her peaceful meditations.

“Girl!” One of the women called out after a moment. Ash made no attempt to respond, though it was clear the woman meant to signal her. “I said, girl!” The woman called again. The woman might have spoken in a pleasant tone, had it not so quickly soured Ash’s peace. She peeled her eyes open and looked over to the greying noble woman.

“Aye?” Ash sighed.

“You’d make better use of the baths if you removed your armour.” The woman laughed.

Ash had no clue what the old bag was talking about. She was laying there wearing only her tattoos and pride, her armour had probably been burnt in the gardens by the way Kat had reacted upon being passed the blood-soaked leathers.

“Huh?” Ash grunted. She followed the gaze of the noble woman to her left hand. She had rested it against the marble floor above the bath and realised in an instant what the woman spoke of. Her black steel gauntlet truly deserved the name now. It consumed her entire hand, from nails to wrist in ornate steel. Shards of deep purple steel jutted from each knuckle as to add a cut to each punch. There were no rivets, nor seams. It was a solid piece of steel that was somehow as flexible and lightweight as the flesh beneath it. She had all but forgotten it was there, despite how much it had grown since she last noticed it. The was no visible skin beneath it, only a black abyssal mark lying in her palm where the steel had refused to spread.

She made a half-hearted attempt to remove to gauntlet, though she already knew it wouldn’t budge.

“I’d rather keep it on.” Ash said with an embarrassed blush.

“Oh,” The woman snorted, “it seems a strange kind of modesty, but you do you darling.”