Immalaine stands outside, near enough to the house that she can hear the men arguing inside. She covers her ears against the volatile male voices, but she can't get Cuthberd's words out of her head. 'Your woman ... dowry ... golddigger ..' it all blended into her mind like an echo. She looks down at the ground and thought to herself that she had nothing to offer anyone. She wasn't pretty, she didn't have any money or lands. She didn't have anything; all she was good for was a ... Falling to her knees, she begins pounding the ground with her hands.
Rastellion looks around, sees Immalaine bent over, and hastens to her. "Immalaine!" He bends down and puts the cloak over her shoulders, then grabs her shoulders in strong hands, pulling her back upright slightly to make her stop pounding. "Don't listen to him. He's a right bastard, I know." He shakes his head. "I wish you'd never met him! But he's like that with everyone ... has been ever since my sister died, and twice as bad since he lost the farm and his leg." He squeezes her shoulders again. "Just ignore him". He blows out a heavy breath. "Believe me, it's th' only way to survive him!"
Shivering, though from the cold or her own emotional turmoil, it was hard to tell, she replies "But he's right. I dun have anythin' t' offer ... anyone." she said, stuttering on the last word as though she'd started to say something else. "I ain't no golddigger, an' I know that right 'nough, but other than farmin' th' only thing I've e'er been good fer is ... is ..." she straightened her shoulders, trying to pull out of Rastellion's grasp, afraid that being to near him would make her say something even dumber. "Still, I came here t' help, an' I ain't gonna let anyone's talkin' stop me doin' that."
Keeping his hands on her shoulders, still crouched behind her, he replies. "You're more than that!" he insists, voice low. "You've got kindness and bravery - not many I know'd come up here like you did! From what she said to me, Zandrianna thinks the world of you... and I don't think she's one to give false praise." He shakes his head. "You've not spoken much 'bout what all happened to you after your pa died... but I know it weren't pretty. An' yet here you still are, proud and strong and making your way." His mouth curves into a half-smile. "Mayor o' Bree in ten years, remember?"
Immalaine gives a brief, rueful half grin, mostly hidden by her long auburn hair as it hung in her face, the wind blowing back strands of it. "That's 'bot as likely as me countin' all th' stars, and twice as hard t' boot." Pulling her shoulders away from Rastellion, she doesn't move away, instead she wraps her cloak around herself. "E'er since me pa died, I've tried t' make sense as why it 'appened. Why I were spared, and not th' others. Why I ... and I can't. I just can't. An' e'en though I've learnt t' be content that I'm alive, I ain't sure I'm so 'appy 'bout it."
Rastellion continues to squat beside her as she speaks, his hand moving to his bow and his eyes keeping watch along the edges of the dell and sparse woods. Inside the small cabin, as Immalaine is speaking, Cuthberd's voice suddenly rises in shrill anger, followed by the sound of his uneven gait across the floorboards.
Rastellion frowns at her words. "Sense? When's there ever been sense in who lives an' who dies? And not just in things like th' raid on your farm. Sickness. War. Even" - here his voice goes hard for a moment - "murder. No sense in any of it." He shakes his head. "I'm no scholar, but seems t' me that, with all that, can't be that death takes away a life's meaning. Not if life has a meaning." He lifts one shoulder. "An' we all die, one way or
t'other." He shifts forward, turning to try to catch her gaze. "An' if death doesn't take away meaning from those who die, can't be that it takes it away from those as are left living." His eyes move past her and back to the cabin. "Start thinkin' like that, and you wind up like my pa - hatin' everyone and everything 'cause o' what he lost."
She remains quiet, lost in her thoughts, though his words she hears clearly enough. Shifting on the ground, so that she is no longer resting on her knees, she finally looks at him again. "Ye mean yer ma?" she says quietly.
"Died a month after my sister was born," he answers, quietly. "Never got back up from 'er bed." The door to the cabin opens and Ceolfred looks out. He sees the two out some paces away in the clearing and nods at Rastellion, then glances around the perimeter himself before stepping back inside and shutting the door.
"I know had t' be rough on ye. I dun remember too much 'bout me ma. I wish I had ..." She looks over the hill, watching a bird fly by, before she asks. "What 'bout yer sister? I ain't ne'er seen her, nor do I recall ye mentioning much 'bout her, if any."
Rastellion looks away at this - several silent seconds pass. A lynx coughs somewhere out on the downs, beyond the small rise that shelters the cabin. "My sister ... died," he finally says, tersely. "A few years ago." He swallows. "Back before things started getting so bad up here." He takes a deep breath. "I... don't like to talk about it."
She watches Rastellion, waiting for a moment. "Ye dun have't, if ye dun want. I understand, some things are jus' hard t' talk on." Her eyes take on a look of gentle kindness, despite the pain and guilt still reflecting in their clear depths. Reaching back her hand, she pats his arm, as she sits back turns and watches over the horizon.
Taking a few moments to collect himself, he looks back at her. "Immalaine, I know you came up here t' help but..." he gestures, "look around. My uncle's a trapper. My pa's got no farm. Who knows how long it'll be, after he gets th' coin, before he's got a new one... though shouldn't be hard t' find folks willing t' sell." He shakes his head. "I know you came up here thinkin' to help but - Immalaine! - that's not helpin' me! An' my pa don't deserve your help. You should be back in Bree, where you've got a good place with Zandrianna, and folks t' appreciate your cooking, and" - he reaches out, touches the back of her hand with his fingertips - "friends."
Staring down at Rastellion's hand, she pauses for a long moment. "Rastellion," she sighs, the warmth of his fingers scattering her brain a bit. "Ye dun understand. It's hard fer me t' be there. All th' stuff from me past, th' mistakes I made, an' I dun mean long ago neither." She bites her lip, thinking about a certain night, and slumps her shoulders. "I jus' dun know if I can stand t' be there anymore."
He stares at her, puzzling over her words, and his hand slides to take hers. "Your ... past? Zan said... I thought..." He shakes head head, as if to clear it. "I was afraid you'd come up here b'cause of our misunderstanding. That you were running away 'cause... 'cause I'd hurt you."
Turning, she gives Rastellion a long look. "Ye did hurt me Rastellion, but mostly I hurt meself by believing that someone like ye could e'er ... " she pauses, about to stop, then shakes her head. "I love ye. I ain't gonna lie 'bout that no more. But as far as I can see, I ain't got any chance of ye lovin' me back. An' between what's past and now, I ain't got no reason t' stay in Bree." Turning, she stared out again into the darkness, the moonlight reflecting on the ground and outlining the hills. Sighing, she reached up, brushing the hair from her face, as a single tear ran down her cheek, hidden in the near darkness.
Rastellion stares at her profile, conflicting emotions chasing across his face like the thin clouds over the moon above. "Someone like me?... Immalaine, whatdya mean? And what makes ya think that I don't... I mean, that I couldn't..." He clears his throat, starts again. "I thought you knew better than t' listen to my pa, or folks like him. You'd make a fine wife t' any man! Don't matter what happened before, when you were on yer own!"
She shakes her head. "Look at me. I ain't got nothin' t' offer ye. I ain't got no dowry, or lands, an' I ain't pretty like those girls in town. I ain't smart like ye neither, wit' yer 'bility to trade. An' after what I dun wit' ... wit' that other fella ... I dun deserve ye neither." Sighing, she reaches up to adjust her top, pulling it away from her skin as she
made herself more comfortable in the scratchy leather. "I guess as yer pa's right, any woman can cook. An' there's plenty o' folk that can farm. T'aint nothin' special there."
Rastellion shakes his head. "You're wrong, Immalaine. Your jus' as pretty as those town lasses. And I promise you, half o' them think cookin' means tellin' someone else to do it! Yer brave an strong, too. If those city lasses tried t' travel out here, they'd have run back home halfway t' Trestlebridge." He squeezes her hand, then lets it go, his own eyes moving to the grey shape of the horizon against the night sky. "No, its you as deserves better not me. I'm just a farmboy as isn't worth keepin' true to if he don't have a fine farm t' inherit." He huffs out a bitter breath. "I learned that right enough b'fore I even came t' Bree."
Immalaine looks over at Rastellion, her expression one of surprise. "Now, who woulda said a thing like that?! Pack o' lies, fer yer much better than any of them city boys, wit' their piles o' money an' their pretty clothes. Ye show me this tart, an' I'll teach her a thing 'bout insultin' a good man." Her eyes flash angry, and she balls her fists up, raising them as though fighting.
Rastellion stares at Immalaine, surprised by her vehemence. "You heard my pa in there," he says, obviously reluctant. "About th' girl I was betrothed to." He looks away again. "Weren't three days after pa said he'd be selling the farm that her own father tells us he's breakin' off the engagement." He bites his lower lip for a moment. "I snuck out that night, went to try t' see her... She scarce gave me a word. Jus' said that, if I had no farm t' my name, what use was I to her... Then she shut th' window in my face." He glances back up to the cabin. "Mebbe that's why pa's so set on us getting a farm again. So as that won't happen again."
Immalaine scoffs. "Wha' kind o' stupid is that?" she asks, completely baffled by the other woman's reaction. "No use t' her? She must be daft then, fer ain't yer farm what gone keep her warm at night. Or cheer 'er up when she's down ... or sit an' count th' stars wit' her." As she speaks, she sits and counts off each statement on her fingers, as though she's taking a tally. "So, if'n anything, she lost out, 'cause she'd prefer the cold feel o' metal t' a real honest man. An' that makes her not much better than a who ..." she turns a bit pale at that last statement, as she bites her tongue, suddenly finding a spot on the ground extremely interesting.
(Credits and love go to Rastellion, who provided the voice of the male characters in this story. *Blows kisses to Rastellion and grins widely*)
