Haunted (February 3010) - [Ceolmund]
Nov 4, 2017 22:16:28 GMT -5
Post by Runa on Nov 4, 2017 22:16:28 GMT -5
“Hildred?”
The blonde woman looked up from the pot of water and boiling herbs, spying a lithe and youthful woman standing a few paces away, cerulean eyes filled with concern, half hidden beneath a furrowed brow. “Adelais,” Hildred answered, righting herself and mirroring the young woman’s expression with her own. “Is everything all right?” Hildred swept around the boiling pot, closing the distance between the two of them, and clasping Adelais’ shoulders gently.
“I…I’m worried about Runa,” the young woman said tentatively, kneading her lips together.
Hildred frowned in agreement. “Is she back at the fire again?” She asked, voice low. Runa had been like ice for nearly two days, ever since that mysterious sorcerer painted the market red, and then visited her home. She had hoped that forcing her daughter to wear her fur-trimmed kaftan would help bring comfort back to her frozen limbs, but whatever magic that ghost had worked was not releasing her.
Adelais shook her head. “I think she’s given up on trying to warm for now. But she’s—”
“Where’s the sage?!” One of the healers exclaimed shrilly. “Runa, what in the blazes are you doing? This is wasteful!”
Hildred abandoned her boiling station and took off at a jog toward the front of the Hall. Runa was perched on a chair, tiptoeing to tack a tied bundle of green sprigs to the top of the window. She did not seem to be paying attention to the harping the other woman was offering, and instead kept a serious expression as she worked.
“We’re out of sage now,” Adelais stated to Hildred, almost as an afterthought.
Hildred’s heart fell, and she hurried forward. “Runa,” she called. “Runa, sweetheart, please come down from there—there’s no need—”
Runa turned to look at her, a tired, blank expression upon her face. There were dark black, brown, and purple bruises around her neck, ghostly remnants of hands that had tried to choke the life from her. Hildred was fairly certain they looked darker than they had the day previous, though the matron of the Hall was unsure whether they were yet darkening or if her daughter’s skin was yet paling. She knew Runa had not been sleeping, and if she did manage to close her eyes, it was not restful. There were dark rims to her glazed blue eyes, small signs to tell that what Runa needed was a long rest, but Hildred could not get her to do that.
She had hoped that occupying Runa’s hands at work would help. The thought of her sitting at home in the house alone after its sanctuary had been so glaringly violated had made Hildred sick.
The morning after the incident, Hildred had stopped by Runa’s house on the way to work. Her daughter had been unwell for a few weeks, likely from the stress of Ceolmund’s muster, and the worry she knew Runa had felt. Knowing that she was already unnerved, and then what happened at the market, Hildred had been worried. She had asked her husband to come with her before he opened his shop, just in case Runa had needed anything a father was better suited for than a mother. Amalric had been happy to accompany her, carting a peg and hammer to satiate his wife’s worry that they may have to force the door in.
They had both hoped they would not have to use it. But the smoke from the chimney was healthy, meaning the young woman was yet home when they arrived, and when they knocked, there was no sound from the inside.
Cynburga, the neighbor across the street, had poked her head from her house the moment she had spied Amalric and Hildred in front of the neighboring door. The woman had the eyes of a hawk; she told them she had seen a ghost enter the house the night before, and that when she told the guards, they did not believe her.
Hildred had immediately ordered Amalric to get the door off, and her husband had wasted no time in complying. When they finally got inside, Runa was curled up by the fireplace on the rug, her shield by her face, and hand clutching her sword’s hilt.
She had been so pale that Hildred had screamed, and that had woken Runa so violently that the girl shot to her feet and brandished her weapon in defense.
It had taken Runa a moment to blink recognition into herself, but once she had, she had immediately dropped the blade’s tip. She did not, however, release the sword altogether.
Hildred had not been able to warm her, nor indeed get the woman to ease since then, and it seemed each passing day was getting worse; Runa was spiraling, the bruises on her neck darkening as the they set, and her icy temperature had not yet been able to be chased away.
“Cynburga says sage will keep the ghost from this place,” Runa said. “I promised Paega I would protect her, and I will.”
Runa had already prepped her home in much the way she was trying to do here. Sage and iron nails were tied in twine and hung from the windows, every fire she started she sprinkled the sprigs upon the logs, and over the door she had carved one of the old Rohirric runes; it looked like a ‘Y’, with a line in the center, extending upward. A rune for protecting loved ones.
“Hildred—we need that sage,” the middle-aged healer fumed. Runa merely gave her an icy, stone-faced glare and turned to adjust the sage over the window.
“Romilda, please,” Hildred urged. “She’s not well right now. I’ll take care of it.”
Romilda frowned nonetheless, and crossed her arms. Her words, though, had stilled.
“Runa, come now. Why don’t we take Paega to Papa’s shop? You both could use the fresh air—”
“I am not taking her to the market right now, Mama,” Runa interrupted gravely. “I told you—he slipped out of the house. The ghost could come back. He might be at the market—”
“You’re right, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested—will you let me take you home? You and Paega can do some needlework. Have you finished the horse?” Hildred inquired, gliding forward and slipping her hands into Runa’s. She could hear the eager patter of little feet springing from a bed, and did not have to look to see Paega’s familiar blonde curls bouncing.
Runa nodded. She had finished Hakon before the market. It was at home, on her bed, waiting for Ceolmund to return. If he was coming home.
Her stomach churned, and Runa grimaced. No. He was coming back. He had to.
“Wuna!”
The voice was a wild wail, and the little toddler threw herself against the young woman’s legs, small hands and arms locking about her knees as if she could not let go without disappearing.
Immediately Runa brushed a hand through the young girl’s honey curls. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“I had a bad dweam,” the girl sobbed, tightening her hold on Runa’s legs. “The monstew’s going to come back, isn’t it?”
“I promise,” Runa said, quickly drawing the girl up into her arms and holding her close, even as she tucked herself against Runa’s neck. “If he comes back, I will protect you, Paega. You won’t be hurt, okay?”
“Wuna, youw still cold!”
“I’m all right,” Runa answered. “I will keep you safe.”
Hildred grimaced, brow furrowing in concern. How long had Ceolmund been gone? A little over two weeks? Not nearly long enough for him to be returning soon. Some of his company had arrived the very same day Paega had been with Runa at the market bearing the lifeless body of a babe they had found frozen upon the ground. She had at least been able to confirm that her son-in-law and son were alive the last the men had seen them. She had hoped the news would comfort Runa, but the market had utterly frightened her. Hildred was not even sure the woman had heard her when she had told her.
Paega seemed to be the only person in Edoras at the moment that could reach Runa through the strange haze her mind had made since the attack. It was like she could hear the child’s distress from across the city, and every thread of protectiveness that the young woman had seemed to be wrapping the little girl up in a woven blanket of strength and comfort.
She feared Ceolmund might be the only one who could get her Runa to rest. The woman had been flitting about the city trying to make her home and the Healing Hall safe, as if she had to be a watchman at all hours of the night. Amalric had been able to sit in her house for a little and get her to try and rest, but at some point that neither Hildred nor her husband could pinpoint, Runa had decided she needed to protect her father.
She had spent the rest of the night sharpening and shining her sword, huddled by the fire to try and sap its warmth.
Ceolmund, though, had always been able to reach Runa in ways she did not allow anyone else to. Hildred prayed this was one of them.
“Let’s go to Runa’s house,” Hildred exclaimed, coming near and brushing a finger along the girl’s sodden cheek and forcing her voice to be light. Paega blinked and lifted her head from the healer’s shoulder. “Why don’t we see if you can make something for Ceolmund as a welcome back present!”
Paega sniffed. “Like what?” The girl questioned, tone piquing in curiosity.
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see…maybe you want to make a Little Hakon?” Hildred tried. “If it’s very small, maybe Ceolmund can bring it with him the next time he goes out! That way you and Runa can hug Big Hakon, and he can hug Little Hakon, and you will both be hugging each other. No matter where you are!”
“Hakawn would give Coleymond ouw hugs?” The girl asked. Hildred nodded. “Okay! We miss hugging ouw Coleymond, wight, Wuna?”
“Yes, we do,” Runa murmured, tone falling. “Let’s…let’s go sew a little Hakon, then. I have some fabric left over from the Hakon I finished.” She glanced around the Hall, spying the healing women as they pulled down the sprigs of sage from the windows she had painstakingly put up. Perhaps it was safer at home anyway. Cynburga had helped to ward her home. The ghost should not be able to come back. Not easily, anyway.
“When is Coleymond coming back?” The little girl asked.
“I don’t know,” Runa answered, pulling the child closer. “Hopefully soon.”
“Hopefuwy,” the little girl repeated in agreement.
Hildred pressed a hand to Runa’s back and began to move her toward Paega’s bed. “Let’s get you dressed warm, little sparrow. Then we can work on Little Hakon.”
“Do you think Coleymond wouwd’ve bwought Littew Tait?” Paega asked.
“Oh, no,” Runa hummed, her tone far warmer than her expression, or indeed her skin. “He would want you to have Little Tait. How else is Tait supposed to get her hugs?”
Paega frowned. “I left Littew Tait undew the piwow this mowning. It was too cowld for howses!”
“Well, I am certain she likes being kept warm. Come now, let me dress you,” Runa agreed.
--
The first thing Runa did when she stepped into the house was set a fire. As the flames began to rise and coil, she hurried to the medicinal cabinet she had set up in the kitchen, grabbing the last remaining pouch of white sage. In the entry, Hildred was pulling woolen layers off of a squirming little girl, smiling and tickling her with light fingers. But her eyes kept flicking to Runa, and she lost the mask of her levity the moment her daughter began to sprinkle the sage upon the fire.
Eorl’s mercy, Hildred lamented. I don’t know what to do. “The house will be warm in no time,” the woman smiled, slipping Paega’s small cloak, mittens, and hat onto the pegs by the door before working with her own cloak to do the same.
Paega was already skittering through the sitting room to come stand by Runa as she tended the logs from the dwindling pile Ceolmund had left her. She had thought it would be too much, but with the rate she was using them, she was going to run out long before Ceolmund was back. Why was the house not warming?
“This is youw howse, Wuna?” The little girl asked innocently.
“It’s Ceol’s, too,” Runa answered.
“Wow, Wuna, is that a weal sowd?” The little girl gasped, catching sight of the glinting steel blade leaning against the outside of the fireplace. “Did Coleymond weave it on axdent?”
Runa, for the first time in a few days, vaguely smiled, some ghost of a sound that should have been a laugh filtering through her lips. “It’s real,” she answered. “But that isn’t Ceolmund’s. It’s mine. And my shield.”
Paega gasped in delight, blue eyes shining as she looked up. “Giwls can have sowds?”
Runa bent, pressing a hand to the child’s golden curls. “Of course they can.”
“Can I have one, Wuna?” Paega asked, bouncing in her skin for the excitement.
Runa thought of the wooden play-sword in the bedroom closet that Ceolmund had finished making for the little one. The woman was not going to gift it without him, and her heart fell faintly as soon as her thoughts turned to him. Whenever she was cooking, whenever she was climbing into bed, whenever she had been sitting and sewing the new Hakon for his return, and whenever someone mentioned his name it was like she discovered her sorrow and worry anew.
She had not cried, but Bema knew she missed him. It always made it worse knowing that by the time he came back, their marriage would be equal parts spent together and separate.
If he came back.
She shoved the thought forcibly from her mind, turning once more to stoke the fire, though the motion was needless. “All brave girls who want swords can have one of their own one day,” she hummed.
“Come now,” Hildred interjected, seeing the blank expression of Runa’s nerves once more settle upon her features. “Runa, where are those scraps? We better get working on that Little Hakon!”
“I’ll get them,” Runa murmured, setting the poker by fireplace. Before leaving the hearth behind, though, the woman lifted her blade in hand.
It had been days since she had seen or heard of the sorcerer, the monster, the ghost. The one who called himself Khamul. But Runa was also aware that she had not heard of him leaving, either. There was dread still lingering in the house, made from the air that he had carried in his wake, and she could hear the cold, cruel voice from the shadows when she wished to close her eyes. He had so much as admitted to being curious about her, and about Paega. As if his mind had tripped on the visions of them, as if he wanted to be near. As if he would be back.
Absently, her fingers touched her neck softly grazing the bruised skin.
“Here they are,” Runa said, gathering a small basket of leftover linen scraps from the cloth she had bought before Ceolmund had left. Paega was at her side in an instant, and took hold of it before rushing back to Hildred.
“We going to sew, Hildwed?” Her voice was pleasant and light as she went.
Hildred was already answering, telling the little girl to pick out her favorite scraps to use to make the little horse. Runa could hear her mother in the kitchen, likely starting some kind of stew. She was never one to be idle.
Runa, though, moved back to plant herself by the fire, taking in hand the whetstone on the mantle. He won’t have her, she said to herself, picking up rhythmic strokes as she settled on the rug by the blaze. Not while I live.
--
The sun had set, a blanket of night once more covering the city on the hill, and outside the February wind was cold and reaching. The sky was relatively clear of clouds, and some of the stars blinked overhead, the light of the waning full moon turning the streets to silver rivers.
On the sofa, Hildred and Paega were working on finishing up Little Hakon, and Amalric, who had shown up when his wife had not returned home from work, was in the kitchen finishing cleaning up the dishes from the dinner’s prep.
It should have been a pleasant evening; there was life in Runa’s house, and she should have felt it. But instead, she was shivering by the fire, not even hearing the beautiful sound of the little girl’s laughter. Instead, her ears listened to the wind as it whistled through the thatch roof, the sound of the quiet street outside.
When the sun set upon Edoras, it set also upon the woman’s reason.
“I think we’re almost done!” Hildred chimed. Paega giggled.
“Littew Hakawn! Wuna, look!”
Runa, though, did not hear the little girl. She was trapped, paralyzed by thoughts. By the cold voice that seeped in from the shadows.
“Let this be a warning. If you ever try to do this again, be it you trying to change me or get in my way, I will rip your flesh off bit by bit and make you scream louder than any man could make you in your bed.”
The blood in her body ran even colder, and her hand tightened on the hilt of her blade. He was going to come back. He had all but promised it.
“Wuna?” Paega frowned.
“Runa, sweetheart,” Hildred said, worry in her voice and tone a little louder to reach through the woman’s fog.
“Hm?” Runa finally murmured, though her eyes did not look away from the licking flames.
“Runa, dear, look at this beautiful horse Paega made for Ceol,” Hildred said, forcing her tone cheery. Almost reluctantly, Runa turned from the fire.
She froze though. “Get down!” She cried, lifting her blade and running full charge for the door. There was a black mass of cloth, the size of a person, peeking around the corner of the wall. He was back. He came back.
“Runa, wait!” Hildred gasped, shooting to her feet, and Amalric came barreling in from the kitchen, carrying the knife he had been starting to clean.
With a cry, Runa swung the blade, piercing through the dark cloth. Her breathing was heavy, her muscles like iron.
“Wuna,” Paega asked nervously. “Why awe you tacking Hildwed’s cwoak?”
Slowly, the woman blinked. It was not Khamul at all. It was the black cloak her mother kept for the colder winter days. She gasped, dropping the sword, clattering to the ground. “M-mama, I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I thought it…I thought it was—”
“That’s all right, Runa,” Hildred replied, glancing to Amalric. They caught eyes, and in the moment of silence they held each other’s attention, an entire conversation flit between them. “You know, Paega, the last thing we need for Little Hakon is a bead for the eye, wouldn’t you say?”
“He needs to be abew to see,” Paega agreed with a nod that sent her curls bouncing.
“I have a whole jar of beads at my house,” she said. “Maybe you and Amalric can go pick one out! We can finish Little Hakon in the morning, and he will be all ready for Ceol when he comes home.”
“Okay!” Paega gleaned.
“Getting to pick out beads? Quite a treasure,” Amalric grinned. “Now, let’s get your cloak and mittens on, and tell Runa goodnight!”
“Is it bedtime?” Paega pouted.
“Not quite,” Amalric answered. “But when it is, maybe you can sleep in Runa’s old bed! It’ll be much quieter than that cot at the Hall.”
“A weal bed?” Paega marveled in delight. “Wiw you tuck me in for sleeps, Amwick?”
“Oh, I think I can manage that!” The man grinned, setting the knife upon the table and scooping the tiny child up in his arms and heading for the cloak pegs by the door. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to tell a story to a pretty little girl to send her off to bed.”
“That sounds very nice, doesn’t it?” Hildred chimed. “I’ll be home later.”
Hildred moved forward, and carefully set a hand on Runa’s arm. “Come on, Runa,” she murmured. “I’m going to make some tea for you. Lavender, chamomile…”
“No,” Runa said sternly, stooping to once more pick up her sword. She had been wrong this time. But if she was drowsy, and if he came back…
“You think your weapons will hurt me? Go on, try me. Let's see what your weapons can do against something that is dead.”
There was a lump in her throat, and her heart was assaulting her ribcage. No, she could not rest. Not yet. He was going to come back, and she needed to be ready.
With a wrench of her arm, Runa moved back to the fireplace, standing too close, but feeling no warmth.
Amalric nodded to his wife, hurrying with the adornment of the little cloak and and mittens. “Do you have your Little Tait?” He rumbled pleasantly.
“And Littew Hakawn!” Paega answered with a smile, lifting both of the small horse toys into the air as proof.
“Good! We shall go get them all settled in with you,” Amalric said. “Now say goodbye to Runa for now—you’ll see her in the morning, I’m sure.”
Paega ran over throwing her arms about Runa’s legs, toy horses still in her tiny fists. “Goodnight, Wuna,” she said. “I wove you. See you tomowwow.”
Runa looked down, heart pinching. “I wove you.”
Slowly she bent, and pressed a kiss to the little girl’s cheek, though her lips were cold. “I love you, too, Paega,” she whispered.
She did. She would fight the monster a thousand times if it meant saving this precious, beautiful spirit.
For a moment, Runa held her in the embrace, but soon her father stepped forward. “All right. Let’s go so Runa can warm under some blankets, and get some rest.”
“Okay, Amwick.” Paega said, and pressing a quick kiss to Runa’s nose, skittered straight off into the man’s waiting arms. She was hoisted into the air, and the bear of a man leaned to press a kiss to his daughter’s cheek as well, hiding the frown he felt at the feel of her skin.
“Listen to your mother, Runa,” he muttered.
Runa’s expression fell into a frown, and defiantly, she turned back toward the flames. The door shut, closing the winter wind back out onto the street. Hildred, for a moment watched her daughter. She did not know what she could do. If this kept up, she was going to waste away. The thought was almost paralyzing. “You barely ate tonight,” she murmured.
“I’m not hungry,” Runa answered simply.
“Will you drink some tea for me, at least?”
Runa did not answer. Though, she had not outright said she would not take it either. Quietly, Hildred moved into the kitchen, praying to the gods that her son-in-law would have a wife to come home to.
The blonde woman looked up from the pot of water and boiling herbs, spying a lithe and youthful woman standing a few paces away, cerulean eyes filled with concern, half hidden beneath a furrowed brow. “Adelais,” Hildred answered, righting herself and mirroring the young woman’s expression with her own. “Is everything all right?” Hildred swept around the boiling pot, closing the distance between the two of them, and clasping Adelais’ shoulders gently.
“I…I’m worried about Runa,” the young woman said tentatively, kneading her lips together.
Hildred frowned in agreement. “Is she back at the fire again?” She asked, voice low. Runa had been like ice for nearly two days, ever since that mysterious sorcerer painted the market red, and then visited her home. She had hoped that forcing her daughter to wear her fur-trimmed kaftan would help bring comfort back to her frozen limbs, but whatever magic that ghost had worked was not releasing her.
Adelais shook her head. “I think she’s given up on trying to warm for now. But she’s—”
“Where’s the sage?!” One of the healers exclaimed shrilly. “Runa, what in the blazes are you doing? This is wasteful!”
Hildred abandoned her boiling station and took off at a jog toward the front of the Hall. Runa was perched on a chair, tiptoeing to tack a tied bundle of green sprigs to the top of the window. She did not seem to be paying attention to the harping the other woman was offering, and instead kept a serious expression as she worked.
“We’re out of sage now,” Adelais stated to Hildred, almost as an afterthought.
Hildred’s heart fell, and she hurried forward. “Runa,” she called. “Runa, sweetheart, please come down from there—there’s no need—”
Runa turned to look at her, a tired, blank expression upon her face. There were dark black, brown, and purple bruises around her neck, ghostly remnants of hands that had tried to choke the life from her. Hildred was fairly certain they looked darker than they had the day previous, though the matron of the Hall was unsure whether they were yet darkening or if her daughter’s skin was yet paling. She knew Runa had not been sleeping, and if she did manage to close her eyes, it was not restful. There were dark rims to her glazed blue eyes, small signs to tell that what Runa needed was a long rest, but Hildred could not get her to do that.
She had hoped that occupying Runa’s hands at work would help. The thought of her sitting at home in the house alone after its sanctuary had been so glaringly violated had made Hildred sick.
The morning after the incident, Hildred had stopped by Runa’s house on the way to work. Her daughter had been unwell for a few weeks, likely from the stress of Ceolmund’s muster, and the worry she knew Runa had felt. Knowing that she was already unnerved, and then what happened at the market, Hildred had been worried. She had asked her husband to come with her before he opened his shop, just in case Runa had needed anything a father was better suited for than a mother. Amalric had been happy to accompany her, carting a peg and hammer to satiate his wife’s worry that they may have to force the door in.
They had both hoped they would not have to use it. But the smoke from the chimney was healthy, meaning the young woman was yet home when they arrived, and when they knocked, there was no sound from the inside.
Cynburga, the neighbor across the street, had poked her head from her house the moment she had spied Amalric and Hildred in front of the neighboring door. The woman had the eyes of a hawk; she told them she had seen a ghost enter the house the night before, and that when she told the guards, they did not believe her.
Hildred had immediately ordered Amalric to get the door off, and her husband had wasted no time in complying. When they finally got inside, Runa was curled up by the fireplace on the rug, her shield by her face, and hand clutching her sword’s hilt.
She had been so pale that Hildred had screamed, and that had woken Runa so violently that the girl shot to her feet and brandished her weapon in defense.
It had taken Runa a moment to blink recognition into herself, but once she had, she had immediately dropped the blade’s tip. She did not, however, release the sword altogether.
Hildred had not been able to warm her, nor indeed get the woman to ease since then, and it seemed each passing day was getting worse; Runa was spiraling, the bruises on her neck darkening as the they set, and her icy temperature had not yet been able to be chased away.
“Cynburga says sage will keep the ghost from this place,” Runa said. “I promised Paega I would protect her, and I will.”
Runa had already prepped her home in much the way she was trying to do here. Sage and iron nails were tied in twine and hung from the windows, every fire she started she sprinkled the sprigs upon the logs, and over the door she had carved one of the old Rohirric runes; it looked like a ‘Y’, with a line in the center, extending upward. A rune for protecting loved ones.
“Hildred—we need that sage,” the middle-aged healer fumed. Runa merely gave her an icy, stone-faced glare and turned to adjust the sage over the window.
“Romilda, please,” Hildred urged. “She’s not well right now. I’ll take care of it.”
Romilda frowned nonetheless, and crossed her arms. Her words, though, had stilled.
“Runa, come now. Why don’t we take Paega to Papa’s shop? You both could use the fresh air—”
“I am not taking her to the market right now, Mama,” Runa interrupted gravely. “I told you—he slipped out of the house. The ghost could come back. He might be at the market—”
“You’re right, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested—will you let me take you home? You and Paega can do some needlework. Have you finished the horse?” Hildred inquired, gliding forward and slipping her hands into Runa’s. She could hear the eager patter of little feet springing from a bed, and did not have to look to see Paega’s familiar blonde curls bouncing.
Runa nodded. She had finished Hakon before the market. It was at home, on her bed, waiting for Ceolmund to return. If he was coming home.
Her stomach churned, and Runa grimaced. No. He was coming back. He had to.
“Wuna!”
The voice was a wild wail, and the little toddler threw herself against the young woman’s legs, small hands and arms locking about her knees as if she could not let go without disappearing.
Immediately Runa brushed a hand through the young girl’s honey curls. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“I had a bad dweam,” the girl sobbed, tightening her hold on Runa’s legs. “The monstew’s going to come back, isn’t it?”
“I promise,” Runa said, quickly drawing the girl up into her arms and holding her close, even as she tucked herself against Runa’s neck. “If he comes back, I will protect you, Paega. You won’t be hurt, okay?”
“Wuna, youw still cold!”
“I’m all right,” Runa answered. “I will keep you safe.”
Hildred grimaced, brow furrowing in concern. How long had Ceolmund been gone? A little over two weeks? Not nearly long enough for him to be returning soon. Some of his company had arrived the very same day Paega had been with Runa at the market bearing the lifeless body of a babe they had found frozen upon the ground. She had at least been able to confirm that her son-in-law and son were alive the last the men had seen them. She had hoped the news would comfort Runa, but the market had utterly frightened her. Hildred was not even sure the woman had heard her when she had told her.
Paega seemed to be the only person in Edoras at the moment that could reach Runa through the strange haze her mind had made since the attack. It was like she could hear the child’s distress from across the city, and every thread of protectiveness that the young woman had seemed to be wrapping the little girl up in a woven blanket of strength and comfort.
She feared Ceolmund might be the only one who could get her Runa to rest. The woman had been flitting about the city trying to make her home and the Healing Hall safe, as if she had to be a watchman at all hours of the night. Amalric had been able to sit in her house for a little and get her to try and rest, but at some point that neither Hildred nor her husband could pinpoint, Runa had decided she needed to protect her father.
She had spent the rest of the night sharpening and shining her sword, huddled by the fire to try and sap its warmth.
Ceolmund, though, had always been able to reach Runa in ways she did not allow anyone else to. Hildred prayed this was one of them.
“Let’s go to Runa’s house,” Hildred exclaimed, coming near and brushing a finger along the girl’s sodden cheek and forcing her voice to be light. Paega blinked and lifted her head from the healer’s shoulder. “Why don’t we see if you can make something for Ceolmund as a welcome back present!”
Paega sniffed. “Like what?” The girl questioned, tone piquing in curiosity.
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see…maybe you want to make a Little Hakon?” Hildred tried. “If it’s very small, maybe Ceolmund can bring it with him the next time he goes out! That way you and Runa can hug Big Hakon, and he can hug Little Hakon, and you will both be hugging each other. No matter where you are!”
“Hakawn would give Coleymond ouw hugs?” The girl asked. Hildred nodded. “Okay! We miss hugging ouw Coleymond, wight, Wuna?”
“Yes, we do,” Runa murmured, tone falling. “Let’s…let’s go sew a little Hakon, then. I have some fabric left over from the Hakon I finished.” She glanced around the Hall, spying the healing women as they pulled down the sprigs of sage from the windows she had painstakingly put up. Perhaps it was safer at home anyway. Cynburga had helped to ward her home. The ghost should not be able to come back. Not easily, anyway.
“When is Coleymond coming back?” The little girl asked.
“I don’t know,” Runa answered, pulling the child closer. “Hopefully soon.”
“Hopefuwy,” the little girl repeated in agreement.
Hildred pressed a hand to Runa’s back and began to move her toward Paega’s bed. “Let’s get you dressed warm, little sparrow. Then we can work on Little Hakon.”
“Do you think Coleymond wouwd’ve bwought Littew Tait?” Paega asked.
“Oh, no,” Runa hummed, her tone far warmer than her expression, or indeed her skin. “He would want you to have Little Tait. How else is Tait supposed to get her hugs?”
Paega frowned. “I left Littew Tait undew the piwow this mowning. It was too cowld for howses!”
“Well, I am certain she likes being kept warm. Come now, let me dress you,” Runa agreed.
--
The first thing Runa did when she stepped into the house was set a fire. As the flames began to rise and coil, she hurried to the medicinal cabinet she had set up in the kitchen, grabbing the last remaining pouch of white sage. In the entry, Hildred was pulling woolen layers off of a squirming little girl, smiling and tickling her with light fingers. But her eyes kept flicking to Runa, and she lost the mask of her levity the moment her daughter began to sprinkle the sage upon the fire.
Eorl’s mercy, Hildred lamented. I don’t know what to do. “The house will be warm in no time,” the woman smiled, slipping Paega’s small cloak, mittens, and hat onto the pegs by the door before working with her own cloak to do the same.
Paega was already skittering through the sitting room to come stand by Runa as she tended the logs from the dwindling pile Ceolmund had left her. She had thought it would be too much, but with the rate she was using them, she was going to run out long before Ceolmund was back. Why was the house not warming?
“This is youw howse, Wuna?” The little girl asked innocently.
“It’s Ceol’s, too,” Runa answered.
“Wow, Wuna, is that a weal sowd?” The little girl gasped, catching sight of the glinting steel blade leaning against the outside of the fireplace. “Did Coleymond weave it on axdent?”
Runa, for the first time in a few days, vaguely smiled, some ghost of a sound that should have been a laugh filtering through her lips. “It’s real,” she answered. “But that isn’t Ceolmund’s. It’s mine. And my shield.”
Paega gasped in delight, blue eyes shining as she looked up. “Giwls can have sowds?”
Runa bent, pressing a hand to the child’s golden curls. “Of course they can.”
“Can I have one, Wuna?” Paega asked, bouncing in her skin for the excitement.
Runa thought of the wooden play-sword in the bedroom closet that Ceolmund had finished making for the little one. The woman was not going to gift it without him, and her heart fell faintly as soon as her thoughts turned to him. Whenever she was cooking, whenever she was climbing into bed, whenever she had been sitting and sewing the new Hakon for his return, and whenever someone mentioned his name it was like she discovered her sorrow and worry anew.
She had not cried, but Bema knew she missed him. It always made it worse knowing that by the time he came back, their marriage would be equal parts spent together and separate.
If he came back.
She shoved the thought forcibly from her mind, turning once more to stoke the fire, though the motion was needless. “All brave girls who want swords can have one of their own one day,” she hummed.
“Come now,” Hildred interjected, seeing the blank expression of Runa’s nerves once more settle upon her features. “Runa, where are those scraps? We better get working on that Little Hakon!”
“I’ll get them,” Runa murmured, setting the poker by fireplace. Before leaving the hearth behind, though, the woman lifted her blade in hand.
It had been days since she had seen or heard of the sorcerer, the monster, the ghost. The one who called himself Khamul. But Runa was also aware that she had not heard of him leaving, either. There was dread still lingering in the house, made from the air that he had carried in his wake, and she could hear the cold, cruel voice from the shadows when she wished to close her eyes. He had so much as admitted to being curious about her, and about Paega. As if his mind had tripped on the visions of them, as if he wanted to be near. As if he would be back.
Absently, her fingers touched her neck softly grazing the bruised skin.
“Here they are,” Runa said, gathering a small basket of leftover linen scraps from the cloth she had bought before Ceolmund had left. Paega was at her side in an instant, and took hold of it before rushing back to Hildred.
“We going to sew, Hildwed?” Her voice was pleasant and light as she went.
Hildred was already answering, telling the little girl to pick out her favorite scraps to use to make the little horse. Runa could hear her mother in the kitchen, likely starting some kind of stew. She was never one to be idle.
Runa, though, moved back to plant herself by the fire, taking in hand the whetstone on the mantle. He won’t have her, she said to herself, picking up rhythmic strokes as she settled on the rug by the blaze. Not while I live.
--
The sun had set, a blanket of night once more covering the city on the hill, and outside the February wind was cold and reaching. The sky was relatively clear of clouds, and some of the stars blinked overhead, the light of the waning full moon turning the streets to silver rivers.
On the sofa, Hildred and Paega were working on finishing up Little Hakon, and Amalric, who had shown up when his wife had not returned home from work, was in the kitchen finishing cleaning up the dishes from the dinner’s prep.
It should have been a pleasant evening; there was life in Runa’s house, and she should have felt it. But instead, she was shivering by the fire, not even hearing the beautiful sound of the little girl’s laughter. Instead, her ears listened to the wind as it whistled through the thatch roof, the sound of the quiet street outside.
When the sun set upon Edoras, it set also upon the woman’s reason.
“I think we’re almost done!” Hildred chimed. Paega giggled.
“Littew Hakawn! Wuna, look!”
Runa, though, did not hear the little girl. She was trapped, paralyzed by thoughts. By the cold voice that seeped in from the shadows.
“Let this be a warning. If you ever try to do this again, be it you trying to change me or get in my way, I will rip your flesh off bit by bit and make you scream louder than any man could make you in your bed.”
The blood in her body ran even colder, and her hand tightened on the hilt of her blade. He was going to come back. He had all but promised it.
“Wuna?” Paega frowned.
“Runa, sweetheart,” Hildred said, worry in her voice and tone a little louder to reach through the woman’s fog.
“Hm?” Runa finally murmured, though her eyes did not look away from the licking flames.
“Runa, dear, look at this beautiful horse Paega made for Ceol,” Hildred said, forcing her tone cheery. Almost reluctantly, Runa turned from the fire.
She froze though. “Get down!” She cried, lifting her blade and running full charge for the door. There was a black mass of cloth, the size of a person, peeking around the corner of the wall. He was back. He came back.
“Runa, wait!” Hildred gasped, shooting to her feet, and Amalric came barreling in from the kitchen, carrying the knife he had been starting to clean.
With a cry, Runa swung the blade, piercing through the dark cloth. Her breathing was heavy, her muscles like iron.
“Wuna,” Paega asked nervously. “Why awe you tacking Hildwed’s cwoak?”
Slowly, the woman blinked. It was not Khamul at all. It was the black cloak her mother kept for the colder winter days. She gasped, dropping the sword, clattering to the ground. “M-mama, I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I thought it…I thought it was—”
“That’s all right, Runa,” Hildred replied, glancing to Amalric. They caught eyes, and in the moment of silence they held each other’s attention, an entire conversation flit between them. “You know, Paega, the last thing we need for Little Hakon is a bead for the eye, wouldn’t you say?”
“He needs to be abew to see,” Paega agreed with a nod that sent her curls bouncing.
“I have a whole jar of beads at my house,” she said. “Maybe you and Amalric can go pick one out! We can finish Little Hakon in the morning, and he will be all ready for Ceol when he comes home.”
“Okay!” Paega gleaned.
“Getting to pick out beads? Quite a treasure,” Amalric grinned. “Now, let’s get your cloak and mittens on, and tell Runa goodnight!”
“Is it bedtime?” Paega pouted.
“Not quite,” Amalric answered. “But when it is, maybe you can sleep in Runa’s old bed! It’ll be much quieter than that cot at the Hall.”
“A weal bed?” Paega marveled in delight. “Wiw you tuck me in for sleeps, Amwick?”
“Oh, I think I can manage that!” The man grinned, setting the knife upon the table and scooping the tiny child up in his arms and heading for the cloak pegs by the door. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to tell a story to a pretty little girl to send her off to bed.”
“That sounds very nice, doesn’t it?” Hildred chimed. “I’ll be home later.”
Hildred moved forward, and carefully set a hand on Runa’s arm. “Come on, Runa,” she murmured. “I’m going to make some tea for you. Lavender, chamomile…”
“No,” Runa said sternly, stooping to once more pick up her sword. She had been wrong this time. But if she was drowsy, and if he came back…
“You think your weapons will hurt me? Go on, try me. Let's see what your weapons can do against something that is dead.”
There was a lump in her throat, and her heart was assaulting her ribcage. No, she could not rest. Not yet. He was going to come back, and she needed to be ready.
With a wrench of her arm, Runa moved back to the fireplace, standing too close, but feeling no warmth.
Amalric nodded to his wife, hurrying with the adornment of the little cloak and and mittens. “Do you have your Little Tait?” He rumbled pleasantly.
“And Littew Hakawn!” Paega answered with a smile, lifting both of the small horse toys into the air as proof.
“Good! We shall go get them all settled in with you,” Amalric said. “Now say goodbye to Runa for now—you’ll see her in the morning, I’m sure.”
Paega ran over throwing her arms about Runa’s legs, toy horses still in her tiny fists. “Goodnight, Wuna,” she said. “I wove you. See you tomowwow.”
Runa looked down, heart pinching. “I wove you.”
Slowly she bent, and pressed a kiss to the little girl’s cheek, though her lips were cold. “I love you, too, Paega,” she whispered.
She did. She would fight the monster a thousand times if it meant saving this precious, beautiful spirit.
For a moment, Runa held her in the embrace, but soon her father stepped forward. “All right. Let’s go so Runa can warm under some blankets, and get some rest.”
“Okay, Amwick.” Paega said, and pressing a quick kiss to Runa’s nose, skittered straight off into the man’s waiting arms. She was hoisted into the air, and the bear of a man leaned to press a kiss to his daughter’s cheek as well, hiding the frown he felt at the feel of her skin.
“Listen to your mother, Runa,” he muttered.
Runa’s expression fell into a frown, and defiantly, she turned back toward the flames. The door shut, closing the winter wind back out onto the street. Hildred, for a moment watched her daughter. She did not know what she could do. If this kept up, she was going to waste away. The thought was almost paralyzing. “You barely ate tonight,” she murmured.
“I’m not hungry,” Runa answered simply.
“Will you drink some tea for me, at least?”
Runa did not answer. Though, she had not outright said she would not take it either. Quietly, Hildred moved into the kitchen, praying to the gods that her son-in-law would have a wife to come home to.