Random fluff post Empire tat

[annwfyn]

It had been a long journey home.

First the oxen carts had stopped at Castle Ironheart, where long suffering and tolerant yeofolk had unloaded the three different carved wooden chests containing the black and silver brocades and leathers and fine worked jewellery that their new Earl required for a weekend away.

They were less tolerant regarding the three different sets of plate mail. Zadkiel Coeurdefer had waved away all their objections with magnificent disdain and headed for the wine.

Ranae had stayed at Castle Ironheart for a few days, helping her cousin oversee the latest transformation of the Earl’s chambers, as much so the Coeurdefer could have a little bit more company as they slowly and sadly carried Lilith’s last few possessions out. Some were given to the yeofolk to distribute to those in need. Some were laid down in the crypt in memory. The painted skull that someone had used for a flower planter on the windowsill (no one wanted to be certain whether that had been Lilith or Durand. Both seemed disturbingly plausible) had been laid to rest in the garden, and now Zadkiel Coeurdefer was ensconced. The boy from the Highguard orphanage had come home at last.

From there, she had taken the slow route to the Castle of Thorns, just to enjoy the last gasp of Astolat summer, when the autumn dog roses fill the air with sweetness and the lanes are heavy with blackberries. She’d spent an afternoon sitting by a lake dabbling her feet in in the cool water, remembering learning to swim with her siblings. Talon had learned first, and had never wanted to leave the water again.

It made sense, Ranae supposed, that he was a fleet captain now. Less sense than he was Navarri, but the world was a strange place.

From the Castle of Thorns, she had hopped across to the de Rondell keep, for a night of drinking. She’d woken up that morning in a flowerbed. Which was at least soft and well tended. The de Rondell might not be that wealthy (but which Dawnish house ever were? Steel has never come cheap) but they did understand the importance of maintaining face.

Then, finally, one week after she had left Anvil, Ranae de Rondell found herself sitting on the back of an ox cart as it wound its way down one of the narrow twisting lanes that lead to the tiny manor that she held for de Rondell. Griff’s Roost was made up of one watch tower, and one long low manor house that had once been a hunting lodge. The forest sat behind it, and then a hill that ran down to a river with a blanket sized island in the middle.

The cart got stuck in the ford for a while, as the oxen drank, which meant the dogs had time to run down to greet the cart, barking enthusiastically. Then they slowly made their way up that last stretch of unpaved and rutted road, between blackberry filled hedgerows, up to the great gate. It sat open (because it had come off its hinges and needed repaired) and beyond it lay all of Ranae’s very own personal world.

She had gone to Anvil and fought to change the world there, but now she was home and had other things to deal with. The alms house had three new residents, brought in wounded from the Ossium campaign, the seneschal had brought in rabbit for tea and the cat had had kittens.