Tattered Souls - Part 5

It had been a long, dusty ride from Bree after her hasty scramble to get ready, and the ranger patrol, with whom Zandrianna had fallen in on the Greenway, set a grueling pace. She kept up with them, but now she feels the ache of it as she follows the faint trail up from the main road. Periodically, she glances at her map, on which one of the rangers back at Esteldin had marked a route for her.

Muttering to herself, she shakes her head in frustration and looks over the landscape, hoping she hasn't gotten lost. The cabin wasn’t supposed to be too far from their encampment, or so the rangers had said. Maybe she should have accepted their offer of an escort, but the rangers were busy with their own matters and couldn’t spare anyone until the next morning, and she's determined to find Rastellion today.

'Burned the letter,' she says under her breath, though no one is around to hear her speak, save a den of lynx kits awaiting their mother's return with supper. 'Rastellion, you're a smart man. Why in Theoden King’s name are you acting so ... so ... dumb!' Zandrianna spits out the last word, causing one of the kits to hiss in reply. With a glance over at the den, Zandrianna steps away, lifting her skirt to keep it from snagging the ground. The sun is dipping past the zenith, and early afternoon sunshine filters through the clouds overhead, though leaving the air still cool enough to chill her arms.

Finally, she comes across a clearing and a small house that appears to be as the ranger had described to her. This must be Ceolfred's house, she thinks, and heads towards it, her head held high with determination.

A man is sitting on the porch in the angled sunlight, a rough woolen blanket over his legs and a battered hat pulled down over his face. He's still enough to be asleep, but as Zan approaches, he tips his head slightly, enough that one dark eye can follow her progress up the path. A crude cudgel lies on the deck, under his chair, but the man makes no move to reach for it yet, just watches.

For a brief moment, Zandrianna slows down as she looks at the figure. But, she has come here to speak to Rastellion and she will, no matter what. Steeling herself, she takes the final few steps to the bottom of the porch and looks up, clearing her throat politely.

The man lifts the brim of his battered hat and fixes her with a sour expression, his dark eyes boring into her from either side of a sharp, spade-like nose. "You lost, woman? What do you want here? If you're begging, I've got naught t' give ya, an' if yer sellin' you ain't got nothin' I want, though you've precious little on ya by the looks o' things." From out of sight, on the other side of his chair, he pulls a heavy wooden walking-stick and points; he'd have knocked her with it if she'd been a few steps higher and closer. "Road's down that-a-way."

"I'm not here selling anything, and I'm certainly not in the habit of begging sir." Zandrianna replies, cautiously watching the walking stick the man swung over towards the road. "I was told by the rangers that Rastellion could be found here, and I wish to speak with him."

The man scowls and looks at her more closely. "Could be... What's your business with him then?"

With a deep breath, Zandrianna takes stock of the man sitting on the porch. "I'm here to speak with him on an important matter, one that I attempted to convey to him by letter." Lifting her hand to her eyes, she looks at the older man more closely, the features of his face battered with age and lines, but vaguely familiar at the same time. "You must be his father," she says finally, taking a guess. "I'm Lady Zandrianna, and it is most important that I speak with your son."

The man's frown deepens. "Seems you know much of our business, strolling up here bold as a mockingbird. I'd know yours then; what d'ya want with my son?"

"Sir, I am hardly a mockingbird, though I am a bard," Zandrianna replies with a chuckle and a quick grin. His scowl deepens in reply. "Fair enough, then,” she continues. “I'm here to speak with Rastellion about the young woman, Immalaine. And," she adds, looking directly at the man, "no matter what you might think of her," - for Immalaine had told Zandrianna some of what Rastellion's father had said - "she is no tart or gold-digger. I will swear that on my husband's name." Straightening her shoulders, Zandrianna waits patiently as she holds her breath.

"Yes, well, you women always stick together, dont you?” Cuthberd snorts. “Be that as it may, way I hear tell, she's left my boy t’ go off with some other fella. An' just as well, says I, so the boy's head's not filled with nonsense." He glares. "Still, was a foul thing to do to 'im, an' any friend of hers ain't welcome here. So be off with ya before..."

At this moment, Ceolfred rounds the corner of the hut, calling, "You railing at the wildlife again you sour ol'..." But then he spots Zandrianna. "Here now, who's this?" He moves forward and offers his hand. "Ceolfred's the name, an' welcome to my cabin, such as it is. How can I help you? You lost? Hungry? Come on inside."

Cuthberd waves his stick once more, then settles back down into his chair. "No good'll come of it," he mutters, almost to himself. "Don't say I didn't try." He pulls the brim of the hat back over his face.

Finding herself being ushered into the house by the new man, Zandrianna follows along with a bemused expression in her eyes. "I'm not lost, though I am a bit peckish after traveling all the way from Bree. I've come to speak to Rastellion. The rangers told me he can be found here. It's quite urgent," she adds, looking around the small but clean common room.

Ceolfred waves her to a chair and sets to putting some food on a plate - cheese and bread and some strips of dried meat. "Rastellion is out back, checking the snares." He brings the plate over to her, along with a mug of water poured from a stone jug. "Urgent, eh? Must be, if you've ridden up from Bree. This another message for him?"

Zandrianna looks down at the food then back up at Ceolfred with a smile and a nod of gratitude. "Thank you," she murmurs, before picking up small pieces of bread and cheese, eating a few to take the edge of her hunger before explaining. "I am the message writer - Lady Zandrianna," she replies finally, "And the message is too urgent for me to risk it getting lost in another fire." Despite the light of the hearth, Zandrianna turns pale, thinking about Immalaine and the whole situation. 'Young ones,' she mutters under her breath, 'can never seem to take the advice of those wiser.' With a rohirric curse, she turns back to the food.

Ceolfred chuckles at this. "Wait until you've some grey in that gold of yours, young miss, before you talk to me about older and wiser." He cocks his head and studies her. "All this way jus’ t’ speak to my nephew, eh? Hmmm." He sets the jug of water down by her plate. "Well then, you refresh yourself there, a bit, an' I'll go see about finding him for you," he says, starting for the door.

Between bites, Zandrianna pauses to watch as Ceolfred heads towards the door. "I only hope I'm not too late," she says quietly. She looks back down at her plate and realizes, with these thoughts, she’s quite lost her appetite.

Ceolfred returns to the small cabin a few minutes later, Rastellion in his wake. "Zandrianna, it is you," the younger man exclaims, in some surprise. He hands off the two coneys he's carrying to his uncle, then steps to pour himself water from the jug on the table, looking at her sidelong. "What're you doing here?” he asks, a bit awkwardly. “I told the messenger t’ tell you I'd be back inna week or two. Din’ you get my message?" He pauses in his pouring. "Everything's okay with the Association?"

Zandrianna stands and heads to Rastellion to give him a hug of greeting. "The Association is fine," she replies, "But there are other, more serious matters we need to discuss." Looking up at him, she takes a deep breath and says simply, "Immalaine's been abducted."

Rastellion stiffens at Immalaine's name. With a quick motion he raises and drinks his water, then sets the mug down and moves a half-step back.

"Why come to me?" he says, his voice bitter -- though edged with obvious concern -- "She's got that new fellow of hers new. Let /him/ help find her, since he's so wonderful." He turns away and strides to the window. "She made that quite clear."

"Damn and tarnation Rastellion! Do you think I'd come all the way here, drop all my duties, leave my daughter, if this wasn't important? That wonderful man is Immalaine's abductor! He's the reason for her nightmares, the reason she's been so scared lately! And not only has he taken her," Zandrianna pauses, taking a deep breath, "but he then has the nerve to break into my home and steal the deed to her property as well! All of which you would have known if you had read the letter, instead of making me drag my ass all the way out here to tell you myself!"

She lets out a sound of exasperation and continues in a more even tone. "I tried to get her to tell you everything, but she was stubborn. Thought you'd not love her if you knew of her past - the things that had happened to her." She begins pacing the floor before the hearth, her hands balled up in the folds of her dress.

Rastellion turns as Zandrianna's words spill out, a series of emotions winging across his face like the season's migrating geese, but they settle back into the sullen anger that had greeted Zandrianna's first mention of Immalaine's name - anger and puzzlement. "The man she left me for has abducted her?" he asks. "You mean she's run off with him."

A quick look at the ceiling shows Zandrianna's distress and frustration with the situation. "No ... Theoden King ..." she begins swearing under her breath, before turning to look at Rastellion's distress. "No, not run off. Rastellion ..." Looking over at the pitcher of water, she goes to the table and pours herself a glass.

Rastellion runs his hands along the window's frame, glancing at the slanting sunlight on the low moor hills outside, then back to Zandrianna. He shifts his feet, and his left hand clenches and unclenches. "But her letter ... she said ... how do you ..." He trails off.

In the middle of taking a long drink, Zandrianna doesn't answer right away. Finally, she sets the glass down. "The unfinished letter. There was a lot in that letter left unsaid. From what Merry reported, she was in the middle of writing it when that man showed up." Zandrianna reaches up to place her hand on Rastellion's shoulder. "She would never simply run off with him. Not unless she was scared."

Rastellion's mouth works a few moments, but no sound comes out. He swallows. "But you're guessing. You don't know. Merry saw them leave, and she told me that Immalaine went willingly. Eagerly.” He shakes his head. "No," he says softly; then louder: "No, it's just like before." He pulls away from Zandrianna's hand, takes half a step toward the door, pauses, goes to the pitcher and refills his glass with the last of the well-water in it.

Zandrianna’s hand drops to her side and she shakes her head at his stubbornness. "You did not hear what she told me, what I begged her to tell you. Yes, I may be guessing," she admits, then straightens her shoulders, "but after what I learned from her..."

Rastellion nods. "Guessing," he repeats, as if it's the only word he's heard. "You come up here and ask me to disbelieve my own eyes, disbelieve what she said and how she treated me, disbelieve eye-witnesses... all based on your guess?" He shakes his head, slowly at first, then more determinedly. "I'm sorry, Zandrianna, but I'm not..." His voice breaks. "I can't ... not again. I... I just can't." He turns suddenly and hastens out the door without another word.

Zandrianna’s shoulders slump; biting her lip in agitation she makes her way to the door. "Rastellion," she says to the empty space where he had stood. "How am I supposed to talk to him if he won't stay put. Like any woman would go back willingly to a monster that forced her to ..." Her voice trails off as she reaches for the knob.

Ceolfred stops her with a hand on her shoulder. For such a large man, he has moved quite silently to intercept her. "Leave 'im be for now" the older man says, voice rumbling in his chest. "He's been up 'ere over a week now, broodin' on all this, convinced she abandoned him for t' other fellow. Won't be th' first time that's happened to him, neither. Can’t expect 'im t' wheel about right away jus' on yer say-so. Let 'im think on it a bit." He urges her back toward the table. "Now, how 'bout ya sit yerself down an' tell me th' story, from the beginin'."

Zandrianna bristles at being steered away from the door, turning her head to look back in the direction she'd last seen Rastellion. "Tell you," she says and looks Ceolfred over, carefully contemplating his simple command. Finally she sighs and lowered herself back into the chair. For a long moment she says nothing, then seems to make up her mind. "I am not sure it matters now who I tell. With Immalaine missing, and going through what I fear ..." she trails off and motions for him to sit down as she begins to summarize for him what she thinks has happened.

Rastellion is sitting on a fallen tree at the clearing’s edge, picking off bits of bark and throwing them into the undergrowth, when Ceolfred joins him some time later. The older man sits beside him and, wordlessly, hands a flask to his nephew.

The younger man glances at him, then takes the offering and takes a long drink. He wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. “It was just like before,” he says, bitterly. “Like Giselle. Why’m I supposed t’ go back to that?”

Ceolfred accepts the flask and take a considering sip himself. Then he hands it back and pulls out his pipe. He busies himself getting it lit for a minute or two, as Rast drinks again and stares into the forest.

“You loved th’ girl?” the older man asks, once his pipe is going. A single affirmative jerk of the head is Rast’s only reply. “And you’re sure she threw ya over for this other man? Certain?” Ceol’s outstretched hand stops Rast’s automatic reply. “Think.”

Rast shuts his mouth and considers. Then he nods. “Aye. She lied about seeing him. And her letter ... well, it was hard t’ read some of it. She spilled ink onnit. But it was clear that she was saying...” He trails off, thinking back.

His uncle nods slowly. “But there could be another expl’nation.”

Rast angrily shoves the flask back at the other man and stands. “Fine. Mebbe. Anything could be true.” His pain-filled eyes meet Ceolfred’s. “Or it could be jus’ what it seems – me getting’ thrown over fer another man. Again. Always.” He kicks at the loose soil, sending up the warm scent of moss and decayed leaves.

Ceolfred puffs on his pipe a few times. “Y’ still love her,” he asks, more a statement than a question. Rast jerks another nod, looking away. “And if what Zandrianna believes is true? If she didn’ leave ya – however it mighta seemed – but was abducted?” Rast starts to turn away, but Ceol rises and puts his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “At least listen to Zandrianna? From what she says... well, seems t’me that’s likely what happen’d.”

Rast doesn’t turn. “An’ if not?” he queries, almost inaudibly.

Ceolfred shrugs in the evening’s growing dimness. “That’s the risk you take,” he answers gently. “If y' love her.” He squeezes the young man’s shoulder once, then turns and strolls back toward the cabin, still puffing his pipe.

Rast stands, staring out through the trees for a minute longer, fists balling and unballing at his sides.

Finally, letting out a long, shuddering breath, he squares his shoulders and turns to follow his uncle back to the cabin, to hear what Zandrianna has to tell.