by Helen Gosney
**********
4. “old habits die hard”
There were quite a lot of aching heads in and around Den Siddon the next day. Not among the foresters, of course, and not many among the troopers either: Fess and Telli would have had the hides of any Guardsman who’d disgraced himself – and more importantly, disgraced the Wirran Guard – by getting drunk. Unfortunately, not everyone had their self-restraint and Rowan noticed quite a few seedy-looking individuals as he came back to the garrison after having breakfast with his family at the Inn of the Dappled Stallion.
“A good morning to you, Thom,” he said cheerfully to the Duty Sergeant, Thom Blunt, “And how are you this lovely morning?”
“A lot better than some poor buggers, Rowan,” Thom chuckled. “Gods, there’s some sorry-looking specimens getting about today. Even some of the Trophy men who’re staying in the garrison look a bit the worse for wear.”
“Aye, I’ve seen a few. Actually I was surprised some had even made it out of bed.”
“Ha! Well, I think perhaps our bugler might have been a bit more, er, enthusiastic than usual today. He’s likely woken up half the damned town, and maybe they found they, um… how can I put it? They had to get up and…” he made an expressive gesture.
“Maybe they did, too,” Rowan laughed, “Oh, if you’re going through the town today, I’d advise you to be careful where you’re putting your feet. More so than usual, I mean. Let’s hope it rains like hell later.”
Both men looked at the sky. The only clouds about were the white, fluffy sort that did little but look pretty. No, they’d simply have to be careful where they walked for a few days.
“Well, I’m off to the gym for a bit, Thom, if anyone’s looking for me. I can’t imagine why they would be, unless ’tis to shake my damned hand or make another cursed speech, and if that’s the case I’d be grateful if you didn’t let on that you know where I am,” Rowan said and headed off.
Thom smiled at his retreating back. Rowan’d always hated the fuss and carryings-on after he’d won the Trophy, and this time looked set to be even worse.
**********
“Has Rowan got back yet, Thom?” Sword Master Stefan asked anxiously a little later. He had something important to discuss with him, but it hadn’t been the right time to do it at the Champion’s Ball last night. He’d thought he might catch up with Rowan before he went off to have breakfast with his family, but no.
“Aye, Sir, he has,” Thom replied, saluting, “He said he’d be going to the gym for a bit, but he wouldn’t be doing too much today.”
“The daft bugger shouldn’t be doing anything today. I gave everybody the day off.”
“Aye, Sir, and we all appreciated it too, but, er…” Thom tried to find an acceptable way of saying ‘Rowan’s a bloody stubborn forester, and he’ll do whatever he likes’, failed, and shrugged.
Stefan laughed.
“Aye, well, he only listened to me when he felt like it, I sometimes thought, so why should it be any different now? You didn’t hear me say that, mind.”
“No, Sir.”
**********
Stefan hurried into the gymnasium. He could see Rowan flowing through his exercise routine with his usual unconscious and oddly feline grace and he paused for a moment to watch. Gods, he thought, I wish I could do the damned workout as well as that. He realised suddenly that Rowan had paused and was watching him quizzically. He pulled his thoughts back from where they’d wandered. He had something important to discuss and here he was, standing about gawking at the Champion like the rawest of damned raw recruits. The triple Champion, he should say. It still boggled his mind every time he thought about it. To win the Trophy twice was incredible enough, and only one man had managed to do it in the five hundred year history of the event. That the same man had won it again and was standing right in front of him was… he could find no words for it.
“Ha! I thought I’d find you here, lad. I gave the others the day off, but I knew you’d still turn up,” he managed.
Rowan shrugged.
“Well, normally I’d be here before breakfast, but I decided I’m not doing much today, so I’d do it after. All the same, old habits die hard, Stefan. It doesn’t feel right if I don’t start the day off by doing something… and besides, Fess says the world would probably stop turning if I just stayed in bed, so… ‘tis a big responsibility,” he laughed.
“Aye, so it is,” Stefan said gravely, “And how did the ankle stand up to all the dancing last night?”
Rowan had torn his right ankle badly not long before the Trophy tournament began, after a fall down stairs while sleepwalking. He’d walked in his sleep a few times after the battles at Messton and Trill, as many others had too, but he hadn’t done it for many years until a Plaiten had appeared one day and tried to kill him. The incident had reawakened a lot of awful memories, and that’d been the result.
For a good while it’d seemed that he wouldn’t be able to compete, but his innate stubbornness and the very useful brace he’d concocted with the help of a splintmaker, a bootmaker and the local corsetiere had helped a lot and he’d taken his place in the competition and won it for an unprecedented third time.
“The bloody thing’s a bit sore, to be truthful, but I can rest it properly now,” Rowan said, with a fierce frown at the offending ankle, “And by the time I get home, it should be right again.”
Stefan nodded.
“Aye, it should be… um, Rowan…?”
Rowan was surprised to see the worried look on his friend’s face, coupled with a sort of suppressed excitement.
“What’s wrong, laddie?” he asked.
“Nothing. But… well, I’m truly sorry, but Maggie and I won’t be able to come back with you to Sian like we’d planned…” Stefan said in a rush. They’d been looking forward to it and planning it for a while, but now… “Rowan, she’s… Maggie’s pregnant!”
“Is she? That’s wonderful! When’s she due?”
“Well, she’s just over three months along and not even showing much yet, but…” Stefan’s face fell, “We’ve been married for nearly nine years, Rowan, and Maggie’s miscarried five times. We’d given up hope of ever having a child… and we… we want to give this little one every chance…”
Rowan put an arm around his friend’s shoulders.
“I’m so sorry to hear of your losses, Stefan. ‘Tisn’t easy to lose a baby…” for a moment he remembered how devastated he’d been when his own little son had been born too early to survive. His wife, Zara, had died unexpectedly a mere few minutes after the baby had died and a week later he’d been sent to the carnage of battle at Messton. He sighed softly and continued, “Don’t fret yourself about not coming to Sian now, it’ll still be there when Maggie’s had her baby and feels well enough to travel.”
“We were both really looking forward to it, Rowan, and I feel like I’ve let you down, but…”
“Don’t be bloody daft, Stefan. ‘Tis much more important to look after Maggie and the little one, make sure they’re both all right. I’d do exactly the same, believe me.”
Stefan’s face lost its worried look.
“Besides, you could never let me down, lad. You trained me to win the damned Trophy again, remember?” Rowan smiled at him and added, “The only way you’d ever disappoint me is if you weren’t with Maggie when she gives birth.”
The worried look returned for a moment, to be replaced by a sort of appalled horror. Rowan had to be very stern with himself, so as not to laugh. Anything to do with childbirth was unthinkable to Wirran men, whereas the foresters were taught to deal with it, and many other things as well, from an early age. Some of their villages and settlements are very isolated, and many a forester woman has had cause to be grateful for her husband’s expertise in midwifery. Rowan himself had delivered quite a few babies over the years, as well as innumerable foals, calves, lambs, kids, piglets, kittens and puppies. To him, birthing was birthing.
“Just talk to Fess about i
t, Stefan lad. He’ll convince you. And have Maggie talk to Bella,” he said with a grin, “Truly, you Wirrans are so damned shy about some things I’m surprised you haven’t all died out years ago. Mind you, you’ll have to be very stern with the midwife, or she’ll throw you out. Better still, try and find a Siannen one. There used to be one in the town, Jenna d’Tyne del’Ennis her name was, but I’m not sure if she’s still here or not.”
Stefan was staring at Rowan in disbelief, but he remembered when Fess and Bella had had their last baby. Due to a shortage of available midwives at the time, Rowan had helped to deliver the baby, as foresters often did at home in Sian, and he’d made Fess stay for it. Fess hadn’t shut up about how wonderful it’d been until somebody threatened to thump him, even if it would mean a court-martial. Maybe there was something in it…
“I’ll talk to Fess then, Rowan, but I can’t promise that I’ll actually, um, stay for the birth,” he said slowly.
“I truly hope that you do. Believe me, you’ll hate yourself later if you don’t. Haven’t you heard Fess moaning about missing out on the births of the first four of his brood?”
“Aye, I surely have. At great and boring length.”
Rowan laughed.
“At least start off with holding Maggie’s hand, when the time comes, and just see how you go from there,” he said.
**********
5. “he was on his way home”
A few days later, Rowan found himself wishing that he’d never listened to Fess’s daft idea of contesting a third Champion’s Trophy. Yes, it’d seemed like an interesting challenge and a good way for him to perhaps overcome some of the ongoing nightmares and memories of Messton and Trill that still plagued him nine years after the event, but…
The long and the short of it was that he hadn’t expected to win the damned thing again. And of course he’d forgotten just how much backslapping, handshaking, speech making and parading up and down in front of cheering crowds that it involved. He sighed as he walked to the stables to collect his horse, Scrap trotting happily beside him. Of course anyone would have brought Ashen to him if he’d asked, but he didn’t want that. Didn’t want any more damned fuss at all, in fact. He’d said his goodbyes to his friends in the garrison and now he was on his way home to Sian. He’d meet up with his family and kin as he went through the town. At least, he thought with a smile, the sight of a big group of Siannen foresters, g’Hakken dwarves, a priest of the One God and two trolls tended to dampen people’s enthusiasm for more handshaking and so forth.
He was a bit surprised at all the activity outside the usually quiet stables, and wondered what the troopers were assembling themselves for now. If it was something that concerned him, they were in for a hell of a disappointment. Still, he found himself unsurprised to see Fess waiting for him by Ashen’s stall.
“Hello, Fess,” he said, “You’re not thinking of roping me in for any more bloody nonsense, are you? Or are you making sure that I’ve not changed my mind?”
Fess shook his head. He knew that Rowan hated all the fuss and to-do that went with winning the Trophy, and really, he’d thought his friend might have left before this.
“No, laddie. Just making sure you get away all right. The troopers are just about to stage a nice noisy little parade for the townsfolk and general hangers-on, so if you and Scrap and Ashen go out past the horseyards and cross the river downstream a bit, you should be right,” he said with a smile, “Oh, and don’t fret about your kinfolk; I’ve sent word to them too. They’ll meet up with you a couple of miles out of town, where the road forks.”
Rowan sighed gratefully.
“Thanks, Fess. I truly don’t think I could stand any more carrying on. In fact, I’d decided to squash the next dozen hands I had to shake, and that wouldn’t really do, would it?”
“No, Rowan lad, it truly wouldn’t. Take care on the trip, now,” Fess stepped forward and hugged his friend, “Will you be back for the new recruits?”
“Aye, Fess. I’ll beat them into shape for you, at least this next lot. We’ll have to see how things go after that.”
Fess nodded. He knew that Rowan didn’t like leaving too much for Griff and Honi to have to do, and their horse breeding business was more successful than they’d dared to hope. Besides, he was a forester when all was said and done, and he hated leaving the trees for too long, as all foresters did. He’d left the forests far more than any other of his kin ever had, and he’d leave them again too, but he’d always return.
“Well, we’ve all talked about the advanced training quite a bit, and Telli seems quite keen about it. I’ll write to you when he gets himself together and finally makes up his mind. I can’t see it all happening for a year or so, though, can you?”
“No, not really. There’s a lot more to it than just upping and doing it,” Rowan said.
He saddled his horse, put Scrap up in front of the saddle, and hugged Fess again.
“Thanks for everything, Fess lad. You were right, ‘twas time to come back,” he said.
“Aye, but I didn’t think that bloody useless Plaiten would show up and try to fraggin kill you,” Fess replied.
Rowan shrugged. He’d thought somebody might try to kill him in revenge for killing a kinsman at Messton or Trill, but he’d thought they’d have done it long before this, if they were ever going to.
“Neither did I, really, but all the same it wasn’t a complete surprise,” he said slowly, “And even with that, I think I’m less fraught about the whole business of Messton and Trill. Still have my moments, I suppose, but I think I probably always will, to some extent.”
“And the nightmares?”
They’d reasserted themselves with a vengeance after Rowan’s meeting with his would-be killer, but had finally settled to a more tolerable level. Rowan’s sleep was still troubled and restless, but he was well used to that.
“A bit less again, now, I think. Or maybe I’m getting resigned to them, or used to them, or something. I doubt they’ll ever go away completely anyway. I think they would have by now, if they’d been going to.”
“Aye, I suppose so. You take care now, laddie. Try not to fret yourself about things.”
Rowan smiled at him.
“Don’t worry, Fess. If I could survive here, with all the memories it brings back, I’m not likely to go daft at home, am I? Besides, nothing I do now, no amount of fretting myself about what I should and shouldn’t have done at Messton and bloody Trill, can change a damned thing. Coming back here to the garrison has finally made me realise it and accept it. Thank you.” He swung up into the saddle and the little black cat leapt up onto his shoulder, balancing easily.
“Bye, Fess. Be well, lad, and Bella and all the brood as well,” he said.
“Aye, we will, and you too, laddie. Be safe.”
Rowan smiled at him again, turned Ashen’s head towards the stable doors and started the long trip home to Sian.
**********
He had no trouble leaving the garrison and town undetected and he rejoined his clan and friends a couple of miles further on, as Fess had said.
“Where are Moss and Chinook?” he asked, looking around him. Surely the two trolls would be here somewhere. Hmm… unless… “Are they still looking at the bridge?”
They’d spent quite a bit of time there during the last couple of weeks, inspecting the bridge and making sure that it was safe. It was well maintained by the townsfolk, but no Bridge troll would ever pass by a bridge of any sort, no matter how humble, without examining it very closely indeed; and so it had been with Den Siddon’s fine granite bridge.
“No, Rowan. They’ve got a bit of a surprise for you!” Rhys said happily.
“Gods, Pa! They’re not going to make a bloody speech are they?”
There was much hilarity among the group at the thought of it, and the look on Rowan’s face only added to the laughter.
“Not exactly, laddie,” Griff managed, turning to point at a thick clump of tall bushes.
&
nbsp; Two big, strong workhorses walked out from behind the concealing greenery. That in itself wouldn’t have been unusual: several of Rowan’s larger kin rode such beasts… but these two were being ridden by trolls. Rowan’s stunned amazement caused even more laughter.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Rowan said, automatically noticing that Moss was far more used to riding than Chinook, but both were making a good enough job of it.
“Well, I did not want to hold up thy clan while we travelled to the Tournament, and so…” Moss shrugged, delighted that the surprise had worked so well.
“So I taught him how to ride,” Griff finished.
“That’s old Frani d’Sammel’s mare Strawberry, isn’t it?” Rowan indicated Moss’s roan mount. He couldn’t believe the trolls were actually riding. He’d never heard of such a thing and certainly all the many trolls he’d known over the years had been happy to leave all travelling to their own huge bare feet.
“Yes. Well, no, she is mine, now. She is a lovely gentle creature, and she does not mind carrying me rather than hauling logs,” Moss said, stroking the mare’s neck proudly.
“Bugger me,” Rowan said, “And what about you, Chinook? Have you gone bloody daft as well?”
His old friend laughed.
“Aye, maybe I have, laddie! But I thought, if Moss can do this, so can I. And now that my backside and I are getting a bit more used to it, I find I like it very much,” he said, “Griff went to one of the outlying farms and found Lavender for me, and she doesn’t seem to mind carrying me around either. We’ve been practising while you’ve been busy waving your sabre about in the Trophy.” He patted his big brown mare’s neck just as Moss had done.
Rowan shook his head in amazement.
“Well, I truly think I’ve seen everything now! So, shall we, um… go?”
Rhys looked around at everyone and smiled.
“Yes, Rowan lad, I think we should.”
**********
6. “Do you want to keep going…?”