Ceofredl bustles back in. "So, stew should be ready by now!" He pulls four wooden bowls out from a low cupboard, one of them badly cracked. "Been a long while since I needed t' use all me bowls at once." He moves to the fire, swings the pot out, and begins to ladle stew into each, handing them to Immalaine as each is filled. Rastellion returns at this point and dumps the logs in the hamper.He glances at Immalaine, then his eyes slide away. "I... should go wash up," he mutters. He picks up a bucket and hurries back outside to the well.
Immalaine steps forward, taking the bowls from Ceolfred, setting each of them on the table, then looks over, wondering whether she should offer Cuthberd his bowl at the fire or if he would come to the table.
Returning from washing up, his hands and face dripping and a bit red from the shock of cold water; Rastellion sets the bucket down against one wall, then moves to the table to pick up his bowl.
Ceolfred follows her glance. "Pull th' chairs over," he says. "We usually set 'round th' fire to eat on cold nights like this. Should be room even wi' four o' us." He bends down and adds another log to the fire. Following Ceolfred's order, she pulls the chairs around to the hearth, making room for everyone, before picking up one of the bowls from the table. Bringing it to Cuthberd, she offered it to him quietly.
Cuthberd looks up as she approaches and takes the bowl from her with a grunt, though one too harsh to be construed as thanks. Rastellion steps up behind her. "Here," he says softly, indicating the chair by the far side of the hearth. "It's warmer on th' other side. I'll sit beside the old man."
Nodding, she heads to the chair that Rastellion had pointed out with a quick step, before settling down into it. She looked around at the three men, making sure they all had their food, before looking down at hers as she prepared to eat. Stirring the bowl of stew, she ladles some of the vegetables and broth onto her spoon and bringing it up to her lips, takes a bite. She'd not eaten much in the two days on the road, and was quite hungry, but she ate slowly so as not to call notice to that.
Cuthberd finishes sucking down a lump of potato and looks up as Rastellion sits beside him. "So," he demands. "Where's my money? What's your excuse this time, boy?" Rastellion sighs. "I told you. They need proof you've authorized me t' sign th' sale an' accept th' money, if you won't come t' Bree yourself. But don't worry. I asked one o'the rangers down at the fort, where I stabled Whitey, an' they said as they can send someone up here with a seal if we need."
As Rastellion explains the situation to his father, Ceolfred turns to the girl, a smile shifting the lines of his weathered face. "So, Immalaine, y' said as y' grew up on a farm?...."
Looking up from her bowl, she nods as she finishes her bite. "Yes sir," she said, "Was me pa's farm. Out past Bree."
Ceolfred, his mouth full of stew, gestures with his spoon for her to go on.
She took another bite of food and began chewing, as she thinks back. Seeing his movements, she quickly swallows her food. "Mostly wheat, we grew. Though we'd turn th' fields and do potatoes, or beans t' keep the lands from goin' fallow. An' me pa had one field dedicated t' pipeweeds. He said how they were good coin."
"Mmm. Rastellion said as one could grow more crops in Breeland, there bein' a readier market there than in these parts." Ceolfred muses, nodding his head.
\"Me pa, he'd travel a lot, bringin' th' crops t' market an' selling them. I dun recall him ever comin' back home wit' much o' what he left wit'."
Ceolfred nods, his face sympathetic. "But... not no more?"
Thinking back on those days, she shakes her head, sighing. "Lost th' farm, 'bout three years back. Some brigands come, what wanted pa t' pay them. He wouldna back down, an' they come back later wit' some friends. Burnt th' farm down, killed th' animals ... the farmhands ... killed me pa ...." she finished in a bare whisper.
Ceolfred reaches out a hand and squeezes her shoulder. "Ye poor thing. Whole world's fallin' apart, and it's folks like use who take th' brunt of it! But ye've been managing on yer own ever since? Now that's impressive."
Looking up gratefully, she smiles briefly at the small comfort. "One o' the farmhands, he rescued me from th' farm, afore ..." she sighed, "He took care o' me, fer awhile." Shrugging, she simply replied, "I survived, I reckon t'is 'nough t' be grateful fer."
From the other side of their small semi-circle before the hearth, Cuthberd suddenly bangs his stick down. "Fine!" he bursts out. "Get th' damn ranger scribe up here an' I'll sign their bit o' stinkin' parchment. Jus' you git that paperwork done, boy, and bring me back my money so as I can find us a new farm. Somewhere wit'out all these damn orcs!" Cuthberd turns and jabs a forefinger at Rastellion - his voice, though lower, still clear through the room. "If you coulda kept yer woman, boy, we'd have had that dowry and I'd not be waitin' on fat-arsed Bree politicians for m' coin. You'd be out in th' fields right now, doin' a proper day's work." He scowls. "Instead, I'm stuck here an' you got gold diggers' trailin' after you." He darts a black look at Immalaine, over Rastellion's shoulder, as he says this, but glances quickly away again, returning his attention to his son.
Rastellion's knuckles are white on his mug; he seems unable, for the moment, to reply. Tea sloshes over the rim and onto his knee.
In the middle of taking a bite of stew, Immalaine hears Cuthberd's words to his son. As they sink in, she turns to Rastellion, confusion clearly written on her face, her bright green eyes filled with frustration. All she says though, as she sets the bowl of stew down on the table, is a quiet 'excuse me', as she stands up and heads for the door. Her mind reeling, she wants nothing more than to take a walk and think.
Ceolfred half rises as Immalaine hurries out, then turns a scowl onto Cuthberd. "You're a selfish old bag o' piss, Cuthberd," he growls. "An' if I were your boy, I'd have stayed in Bree and never looked back. Bad enough when you were using him as dowry-bait, now you got nothin' and you're trying to make him nothin' more than a farmhand - an unpaid farmhand!" He sits back down, but leans forward to scowl at Cuthberd. "If my sister could see you now, she's be right 'shamed!"
Rastellion's father lurches to his feet, his bowl and mug clattering to the hearth. He grips the chair back and braces himself on his one good leg. "Don't you dare speak of her to me," Cuthberd growls, his eyes suddenly very bright in the firelight. "I loved that woman damn yer eyes. She never should'a..." He chokes off the rest of his sentence. "Least I can do is t' see her boy has a future!"
"Future?" Ceolfred snaps back. "What future's there in this blighted land? Look around you, man! War's coming. Creatures flood from th' north! And..."
Rastellion, whose eyes followed Immalaine to the door, slips away as the two men take up what's clearly a well-worn argument. He touches his uncle's shoulder as he passes, and Ceol gives him a nod, though not interrupting his angry words. Rastellion grabs up his bow, his own cloak and Immalaine's, and hurries out into the dark after her. "Immalaine ... it's not safe out here, alone!"
(Credits and love go to Rastellion, who provided the voice of the male characters in this story. *Blows kisses to Rastellion and grins widely*)
