Double Drowned
Jun 7, 2018 8:40:50 GMT -5
Post by Ceolmund on Jun 7, 2018 8:40:50 GMT -5
“Would you give these to Runa?” Ceolmund had voiced quietly to Hildred before his departure. A scrap of fabric tied with string. Rolled carefully within was the carved mountain bluebird, which had carefully pegged back together, resanded, and repainted. It appeared almost flawless save the hairline crack visible on it's tailfeathers. Ceolmund could have re-made the whole thing, but that was the one he had made right after he had seen the bird… when he had first had the idea to create the collection for her. It would be a pity to throw it away.
Along with the bluebird was the pippit, and the two lark buntings. Male, and female. Maybe the sight and thought of the two birds together in their nest… no, it was too much to hope for.
Ceolmund was becoming used to the musters, though this was only his second time leaving the gates of Edoras on one, he had departed several times from Aldburg in his nine months of service. The first time, he had bid farwell to Runa from the Healing Hall. She had been busy that morning, among other things, with the wounded company of men, but he knew now the hall was slow. Few beds were used, and those cases which were staying over were none too serious.
Still Runa had not come. The horses and men were gathered and stamping behind him. He pressed his lips together, his face set stern, though he felt sad, and an ache in his chest. Ceolmund had wished to see her. Even if he had barely been able to look at her over the past month for the sake of how her dress had been ripped by his Mother, and how he had seen the pale skin descending below her neckline. The angular collar bone, the smooth curve of her chest, and the space between...” Ceolmund's breath hitched in his throat, trying to press the vision from mind. Her mother right there in front of him. Like a sister, he chided himself. He had never wished to touch someone so much. And it was not just those, but her. All of her. Her blue eyes and her golden hair, and the way he face lit up at the call of the birds, or stayed firm in concentration with her shield in hand.
“Tell her I miss her,” Ceolmund said to Hildred, his expression serious. “And I'll see her when I get back.”
The call had been made to muster, and Ceolmund had departed.
***
That had been three weeks past, and Runa was all Ceolmund could think of as the Dunlending's spear struck him and sent him reeling from his horse into the fen. The reeds scraped against his cheek, and the murky water burbled overhead until all he could see was light gleaming through liquid brown.
It had been only for Balder's quick eye and sprightly momentum that Ceolmund's face had been yanked back out of the shallow waters, and he coughed, gasping as the last of the Dunlendings were slain by the horsemen around him. It took both Balder and Gerlaf to drag Ceolmund out of the mire and settle him on the ground, while others around them did the same, as well as pulling those unfortunate casualties to lay aside and take name before the pyres were made.
The Dunlendings had hidden in the reeds; waiting, and unsuspecting in this locale, the small cluster of Eored which had been making a watch on the far side of the river were taken at unwares, and the losses were great, thought the Eored sustained in the end.
Ceolmund had coughed for a long while, as Balder held him on his side, slapping his back to help loose the water from his lungs. “Ru-Runa,” Ceolmund finally managed, between coughs.
“She's back in Edoras,” Balder had answered, though he was not fond of the young woman, he was not about to make a remark on it when the other recruit had nearly drowned himself. “I expect she'll be one of the first to see you when we get back.”
All Ceolmund could muster thereafter was a series of groans; for the pain in his side was fierce; like nothing he had ever felt before. Balder and Gerlaf began to strip him of his armor to see the damage even as they were joined by the rest of the Eored.
“It looks deep,” Balder muttered, and Ceolmund's eyes looked frantically down, trying to see the wound himself.
“Captain!” Gerlaf called, ushering Captain Ramm over to see.
The shrewd eye of the Captain looked over the flesh wound, where skin had been shredded from his side and wood was splintered. Ramm prodded him above the cut, and Ceolmund gasped. “Get the wood out of it. Pressure and wrap it. It didn't cut into the abdomen, but it's going to be infection if it takes too long to get him back to the city.”
**
Three more days passed, and Ceolmund's eyes were glazed over as he sat atop his horse. He'd managed to ride, hunched over, though bearing more pain by the day as the others cared for him at their stops, though he was growing weaker, and his side burned. Making the last crossing of the River Snowbourn, Gerlaf was at his flank, and Edoras was ahead, in sights.
“I need...” Ceolmund started, blinking and gasping, as he suddenly sat up straight. He could see the peak of the thatched roof of the Healing Hall, partway up the hill behind the gates.
Gerlaf's glance flashed to Ceolmund, and he saw his friend lean in the saddle. There was no time to still his motions, and Ceolmund again fell from horseback, into the swifter current of the Snowbourn this time.
“Cenric!” Gerlaf called to the man ahead, before bursting into a stream of curses as he near leapt from the saddle, trying to reach Ceolmund in the current. It took both men becoming soaked to the bone to catch him from the currents and this time, Ceolmund was limp; he did not struggle nor gasp for air as they reached him.
“Do not curse Béma's name,” Cenric grumbled beneath his breath, as they dragged him upon shore.
“He does not draw breath; I will curse every god and rock and tree stump, and you will too if you return to your wife with news of her brother's death, right outside the city” Gerlaf continued to curse as he used both hand and mouth to work the water from his friend's lungs, until Ceolmund finally coughed and breathed in shallow gasps, though his eyes did not open.
**
“The King's Men!” the call went up from the gatehouse as the small entourage of wounded and fit soldiers entered the city gates, and others reverberated it through the dusty city streets. The horses were reined in front of the Healing Hall. Gerlaf's mount was wheezing ahead of the rest, for his had been set the last mile from the river in a gallop to reach the halls, with two large men upon it's back.
“A litter!” he called into the Hall as the door was swung open.
Along with the bluebird was the pippit, and the two lark buntings. Male, and female. Maybe the sight and thought of the two birds together in their nest… no, it was too much to hope for.
Ceolmund was becoming used to the musters, though this was only his second time leaving the gates of Edoras on one, he had departed several times from Aldburg in his nine months of service. The first time, he had bid farwell to Runa from the Healing Hall. She had been busy that morning, among other things, with the wounded company of men, but he knew now the hall was slow. Few beds were used, and those cases which were staying over were none too serious.
Still Runa had not come. The horses and men were gathered and stamping behind him. He pressed his lips together, his face set stern, though he felt sad, and an ache in his chest. Ceolmund had wished to see her. Even if he had barely been able to look at her over the past month for the sake of how her dress had been ripped by his Mother, and how he had seen the pale skin descending below her neckline. The angular collar bone, the smooth curve of her chest, and the space between...” Ceolmund's breath hitched in his throat, trying to press the vision from mind. Her mother right there in front of him. Like a sister, he chided himself. He had never wished to touch someone so much. And it was not just those, but her. All of her. Her blue eyes and her golden hair, and the way he face lit up at the call of the birds, or stayed firm in concentration with her shield in hand.
“Tell her I miss her,” Ceolmund said to Hildred, his expression serious. “And I'll see her when I get back.”
The call had been made to muster, and Ceolmund had departed.
***
That had been three weeks past, and Runa was all Ceolmund could think of as the Dunlending's spear struck him and sent him reeling from his horse into the fen. The reeds scraped against his cheek, and the murky water burbled overhead until all he could see was light gleaming through liquid brown.
It had been only for Balder's quick eye and sprightly momentum that Ceolmund's face had been yanked back out of the shallow waters, and he coughed, gasping as the last of the Dunlendings were slain by the horsemen around him. It took both Balder and Gerlaf to drag Ceolmund out of the mire and settle him on the ground, while others around them did the same, as well as pulling those unfortunate casualties to lay aside and take name before the pyres were made.
The Dunlendings had hidden in the reeds; waiting, and unsuspecting in this locale, the small cluster of Eored which had been making a watch on the far side of the river were taken at unwares, and the losses were great, thought the Eored sustained in the end.
Ceolmund had coughed for a long while, as Balder held him on his side, slapping his back to help loose the water from his lungs. “Ru-Runa,” Ceolmund finally managed, between coughs.
“She's back in Edoras,” Balder had answered, though he was not fond of the young woman, he was not about to make a remark on it when the other recruit had nearly drowned himself. “I expect she'll be one of the first to see you when we get back.”
All Ceolmund could muster thereafter was a series of groans; for the pain in his side was fierce; like nothing he had ever felt before. Balder and Gerlaf began to strip him of his armor to see the damage even as they were joined by the rest of the Eored.
“It looks deep,” Balder muttered, and Ceolmund's eyes looked frantically down, trying to see the wound himself.
“Captain!” Gerlaf called, ushering Captain Ramm over to see.
The shrewd eye of the Captain looked over the flesh wound, where skin had been shredded from his side and wood was splintered. Ramm prodded him above the cut, and Ceolmund gasped. “Get the wood out of it. Pressure and wrap it. It didn't cut into the abdomen, but it's going to be infection if it takes too long to get him back to the city.”
**
Three more days passed, and Ceolmund's eyes were glazed over as he sat atop his horse. He'd managed to ride, hunched over, though bearing more pain by the day as the others cared for him at their stops, though he was growing weaker, and his side burned. Making the last crossing of the River Snowbourn, Gerlaf was at his flank, and Edoras was ahead, in sights.
“I need...” Ceolmund started, blinking and gasping, as he suddenly sat up straight. He could see the peak of the thatched roof of the Healing Hall, partway up the hill behind the gates.
Gerlaf's glance flashed to Ceolmund, and he saw his friend lean in the saddle. There was no time to still his motions, and Ceolmund again fell from horseback, into the swifter current of the Snowbourn this time.
“Cenric!” Gerlaf called to the man ahead, before bursting into a stream of curses as he near leapt from the saddle, trying to reach Ceolmund in the current. It took both men becoming soaked to the bone to catch him from the currents and this time, Ceolmund was limp; he did not struggle nor gasp for air as they reached him.
“Do not curse Béma's name,” Cenric grumbled beneath his breath, as they dragged him upon shore.
“He does not draw breath; I will curse every god and rock and tree stump, and you will too if you return to your wife with news of her brother's death, right outside the city” Gerlaf continued to curse as he used both hand and mouth to work the water from his friend's lungs, until Ceolmund finally coughed and breathed in shallow gasps, though his eyes did not open.
**
“The King's Men!” the call went up from the gatehouse as the small entourage of wounded and fit soldiers entered the city gates, and others reverberated it through the dusty city streets. The horses were reined in front of the Healing Hall. Gerlaf's mount was wheezing ahead of the rest, for his had been set the last mile from the river in a gallop to reach the halls, with two large men upon it's back.
“A litter!” he called into the Hall as the door was swung open.