5:9 Batya Lyosha.

Back in the Raibeart shrine room, with all the candles lit except the ones on the altar, one Dragonborn, one Tiefling, and one Shadar-kai stared at a collection of papers that only one of them could truly decipher.  The frenzywater bottle was stoppered and sheltered under a heavy cloth, while the suzale bottle sat open in the center of the paper chaos.  Niku, well worn out from a hard day of minding a small girl, was fast asleep close to the room's entry way.

"No one is asking you about this names?" Aleksei asked for the third time that night.

"Why should they?" Silveredge asked, knowing that he didn't need to hear the negative answer as much as she needed to understand why he had repeated the question.

"Stonecrusher is honorable.  Bloodtalon is traitor.  There are a few people who know the history of both names, but all know that they are coming directly from Arkhosia.  It must be seeming strange to them to have Shadar-kai asking about the writing of Arkhosian names, because there is no Arkhosian with you when you are asking.  Already they have much more suspicion for you than the people in Urmlaspyr are having; they are putting you in chains, in jail, in much questioning, with only little, little reason.  I do not like this bondage over and over for you.  Anything that is making this possible is of much concern, even if it seems to you only little possibility.  Please to ask me to come with you, if you will ask about any more of my history to someone who is not me."

"Having the original spellings is kind of as good to me as having the Common transliterations- I mean, I dunno, this one looks cool, whichever one it is," Mi'ishaen cut in before Silveredge could even apologize for having offended.  "But Bloodtalon isn't your name.  Stonecrusher is."

"Nyet, I am giving that name away," Aleksei said with a deep sigh.  "When I am joining the war, I am swearing with my sword that I will become talon of Tiamat.  I am commanded to clear rebellious temple of Io by Bloodtalon Turin Olegovich Gurov, who is promising me his name when I am completing the command.  But Io, with the eyes and voice of Mamoshka, is striking me blind and deaf together.  I destroy friend and foe alike in my fury, and quickly Turin is discharging me.  Because of this, neither my pact nor my clan change is complete."

"Praise be to Io," Silveredge said very quietly as she gazed at the Draconic spellings.

"If you didn't become a Bloodtalon, then you're a Stonecrusher, like you told Mikhail in that stupid hall," Mi'ishaen insisted.  "Your mother recognized you and spoke to you, so that's enough right there.  If she'd have disowned you, then you can say that you don't have a name."

"In paper, in many places, da, still I am Stonecrusher," Aleksei admitted.  "It is too long to explain to them why it is not true, and even after I am telling them, it does not matter to them as it should.  But I am much dishonoring that name by even trying to trade it for another, even if this trading is never complete.  So now, if you will take it, you can, but it is not mine to give you."

"You can't do that," Mi'ishaen argued.  "Not even you can forfeit your name; your family has to do that.  Your mother looked you in the face and didn't say, 'You're not my son.'  That's the opposite of what she did in that temple; you know that."

"She is trying to call back a boy who already is not there," Aleksei mused, contemplating the suzale bottle.  "With her last breath, she is doing all she can to awaken him.  I know this."

"First beloved, remember, our traditions are different to yours," Silveredge cooed, resting a gentle hand on Mi'ishaen's thigh and giving it a gentle rub.  "For you, it is true that only another family member can disown you; that is the Tiefling way of things, and it is somewhat similar for the Shadar-kai.  But a Dragonborn who has done dishonorable things, even if they are done in the darkest, farthest corner, cannot claim their family's name without doing it irreparable damage in the eyes of any and all other Dragonborn.  This is why that priest came to crow so harshly in Lyosha's face when he heard of him- is that not true?"

Aleksei pushed out what should have been a chuckle as he continued to stare deeply into the center of the suzale bottle.  "Da.  Quickly; please not to let the iron cool."

"You can see that it hurts him to admit what he has done," Silveredge pressed, running her hand up from Mi'ishaen's thigh to behind her back.  "You don't want it to hurt him, and you resort to fury, because you can't make it stop hurting him.  I don't want pain for him either, but we must accept what he's saying as true.  There is, unfortunately, no one with whom we can fight to the death to change the matter."

Mi'ishaen, who wasn't used to being so thoroughly understood, gave a short huff of annoyance, but could say nothing.

"By allowing myself to sleep, I am losing my clan," Aleksei noted as he reached forward and picked up the suzale bottle.  "Now, I practice being awake.  It is much easier to sleep, but it is not good.  I think you know this already, in maybe little different way."

Mi'ishaen looked at Aleksei, but the face that usually was so good at donning pretences could not quite be blank.  She watched him take a long pull of the suzale, but made no move to retrieve the bottle when he rested it on the floor again.

"When you are asleep, you believe that everything will not hurt you," Aleksei said very quietly.  "Everything cannot touch you.  But, everything also is enemy, especially yourself.  Please to try very hard to hear this saying."

Mi'ishaen closed her eyes and breathed very deeply.  "What I'm trying very hard to do is not scream.  Because there is no point.  And it's late, and I don't want to wake everyone in the house.  But I could just scream."

Aleksei and Silveredge looked at each other, then back at Mi'ishaen, whose eyes were still tightly shut.

"I know this," Aleksei soothed at last.  "Look, there is good amount of ale remaining.  Please to scream in your heart until perhaps midday tomorrow."

"That stuff is wash water; I don't know why you bought it," Mi'ishaen growled as she buried her face in her hands.  " 'Please to scream in your heart', oh, dear fuck."

"May I give you a hug?" Silveredge asked.

"The fuck?  What- what am I going to say, 'No'?  Oh, fuck; I'm doing it. You just fucking- uuugh."  Mi'ishaen crunched her hands into fists and pressed them against her mouth, then took three precise breaths.  "Yes, please; yes, please give me a hug, because I am seriously about to just scream, and I can't.  It's stupid o'clock at night; I can't scream."

Silveredge moved some papers closer to Aleksei, and scooted into the space that they left.  She wrapped loving, delicate arms around Mi'ishaen, who immediately turned and buried herself into Silveredge's chest as though she were much younger.

"I  mean, I get it.  I do get it.  I don't get how to wake the fuck up, but I get being asleep, yes.  And I fucking hate it, and I hate knowing that I hate it, and just about the only thing about all this that I don't hate- no.  The people that I don't hate in all of this, are you.  The two of you.  I don't know how the fuck to do this.  And I swear, if either of you mention another fucking god-"

"When you reach the foot of the mountain, the path will show itself to you," Aleksei noted.  "But, perhaps the shadow of the mountain is dark and cold, and this is why the coming to it is so uncomfortable."

"You and your proverbs are going to kill me past being dead!" Mi'ishaen said, only half joking.  "Okay, okay... okay.  Look, when I become a nun, don't shave my hair all the way off.  I don't know what head shape I've got, but I do have horns; I might look brutally ugly as a baldy."

"No one cut my hair only because I became a dedicant; Amilie trimmed my hair because she noticed that the ends were poofing out like an old, dry whisk broom," Silveredge smiled.  "You're much more jealous of your hair than I have ever been, so even if you become a dedicant of some goddess who usually demands the cutting of hair, you will likely keep much of it."

Mi'ishaen chuckled weakly, which her companions took as a good sign.  They waited in silence until Mi'ishaen sat up and turned around, enabling Silveredge to wrap herself behind her like a living blanket.

"Oh, I remember you trying to teach me to meditate like this," Mi'ishaen managed, reaching for the suzale.  With a sigh, she took a swig and made a face.  "I suppose if I'm gonna be a nun, we're gonna have to keep practicing this until I get it right."

"Your handmaiden will be happy to be this close to you during as many practice sessions as are necessary in your pursuit of fulfillment," Silveredge said slyly, tucking her chin over Mi'ishaen's shoulder.

Mi'ishaen blushed furiously as she took another, longer, drink of the suzale, and Aleksei found himself grinning as he had in the presence of Amilie and Udala.

"Ah, this is such good feeling that I do not wish to ruin it, but, I must remind you of important thing.  Bloodtalon is dangerous name, belonging to traitors and murderers," he warned.  "None can be anything but evil.  Also this name is not mine to give you, but I ask very strongly, please not to take."

"We won't," Silveredge agreed without even looking at Mi'ishaen to check.  "We will have nothing to do with it; we'll be Stonecrushers."

"Well, wait, let's think this through," Mi'ishaen reasoned.  

"How could we possibly consider-" Silveredge began, turning incredulous eyes to the Tiefling in front of her.

"No, not the Bloodtalon thing; I'm with you on that.  Fuck that name, and all the assholes who tricked other people into taking it, like it was some great gift to be bestowed.  Like Mikhail."

The name fell like a stone in their midst, and Aleksei slowly nodded.

"I fear nothing," he said, "if you know this truly."

Silveredge quietly gave a single nod, but Mi'ishaen opted to move on from that mention.

"So, Stonecrusher, right?  If we take that clan name, technically, we would be the only living members of it, isn't that so?"

Aleksei silently nodded again.

"Okay, so- hear me out- can we choose to restore you to the clan?" the Tiefling asked. "Like, after we become Stonecrushers by law, honorably and whatever, can we officially take you back?"

And the Dragonborn gave a full voiced laugh.  "I do not know this.  These are very good question for the clan leader, and if I see him, I will ask him."

"Yeah, whenever you run into him- tomorrow or day after that," Mi'ishaen scoffed, despite understanding the joke for what it was right away.  "Fuck it; let's do it.  We become Stonecrushers hecho y derecho, and then by the law of wherever the fuck we are- and I hope it's not here- we take Aleksei back and- I dunno- elect him to be the patriarch of the clan again."

Aleksei laughed even harder at the concept of electing a clan leader, and was so breathless that he couldn't manage to correct the suggestion.

"We should check if Aleksei's ancestors allow that before we simply do it," Silveredge suggested, consciously ignoring Aleksei's response.  "Otherwise, they could curse all of us.  We know Tiamat worshippers amass huge sums of coin to summon their ancestors, but how do adherents to the ways of Io or Bahamut call upon their ancestors, if they do at all?"

"I do not know how to call Batya or Mamoshka," Aleksei smiled sadly, after he'd caught his breath.  "I do not even know how to call my brothers or my sister; all are gone, and I do not know where.  Also I do not know if I will go where they are, or perhaps to Tiamat, at last."

"Fuck all of the gods; I'm serious.  You'll go where we bury you, unless you want to be burned on a pyre instead," Mi'ishaen said resolutely.  "Now look, when we do this thing, we should elect Aleksei the clan father.  If anybody's pissed off, living or dead, they can find a way to tell us so afterward."

"Either your ancestors are very tolerant or very hard of hearing," Silveredge marvelled.  "Imagine being so unafraid of such powerful spirits as could deal equally with the lords and princes of the hells!"

"They didn't deal equally," Mi'ishaen corrected, immediately embittered.  "Look at me; look at how I'm treated everywhere I go ever, even by people of my own damn race.  And the entire empire is still gone, which was what the 'ancestors,' or whoever, was trying to prevent. You think this was a fair deal?"

"If I give you Alekseyevna, maybe this will be sufficient?" Aleksei interrupted, holding a hand up so that Silveredge wouldn't apologize for having offended.  "This way, we are not inviting revenge from anyone.  That name I can give to you with much happiness, and all the honor I have."

Mi'ishaen quietly remembered the moment outside the tavern back in Urmlaspyr.  "I already tried it on for size, and I liked it, or we wouldn't be having this conversation now," she admitted.

"Look, now you are having something to do to make us happy, Shadow child," Aleksei smiled gently, opening his hand to gesture broadly at the papers on the floor.

"Then it should be... Shuun-Azaroth Silveredge Alexeyevna pas-Naja for me, and... Shuun-Azaroth Mi'ishaen Alexeyevna pas-Saya'ani for you," Silveredge said carefully as she leaned to the side to write the names down.

"No, no, not my mom's name," Mi'ishaen cut in, putting a hand on Silveredge's arm.  "That bitch died like she lived- for herself."

"Oh, that is big, big saying," Aleksei said under his breath, looking back down at the suzale.

"Shuun-Lucien for both of us, and- lemme see if I get this- given name, patronymic, pas-parent, right?  Okay, so I'm Mi'ishaen Alekseyevna pas-Akmenyn," Mi'ishaen said tentatively.  "That was Dad- Akmenyn Silvio-Lucien.  Did Seyashen write any of my dad's names down for you?"

"Yes; here they are," Silveredge replied, pointing to one of the pieces of paper that she had moved earlier.  "His first name is very interesting; it is as though your father's mother named him for someone or something quite different."

Mi'ishaen snorted.  "Yeah, a lot of folks in my dad's generation got the really infernally-inspired names.  It was when people were doing that 'we're proud of our heritage' thing.  Which was bullshit.  I mean, if they were so proud, how come they did so much to hide those of us who had actual horns, hooves, and tails?  Like, why say you're proud of your Infernal heritage and then try your damndest to look, act, and sound like a Human?  It doesn't make any sense; either you're proud to be a Tiefling, or you're... whatever that guy in the testing cell before me was.  Remember him?  Yeah, that guy."

"Will your father be upset that his name is put in the same name as a Dragonborn?" Aleksei asked carefully.  "My people are the destroyers of your family; I remember you saying this with much fury."

"Yeah, I know," Mi'ishaen puffed, knowing that her past words would have had to be addressed.  "I kind of practiced being angry at Dragonborn, to be honest.  And to be more honest than that, Dad didn't even want to fight; he thought the war was just as ridiculous as Yasha's father did, he just didn't make the mistake of going around telling people that.  A soldier tried to take advantage of my mom while my dad was performing, and Dad, being the ace shot that he was, threw an instrument at him, or something, and killed him on the spot.  So the government held the murder over him; basically they said that if he didn't go put those skills to use for them willingly, that they'd come take all of us as slave labour, and then force him to go.  Something like that, is what Ade said.  I asked him, like once, and never again.  I was six, or thereabouts, and just... nothing was making sense.  One day, Dad's gone, the next little bit, Mom's gone... I was... scared.  And angry, but I had to practice who to be angry at, I guess."

"I can certainly appreciate that,"Silveredge piped up.

"Well, all that to say, if you met my father, the two of you probably would have been the type to sit and reinvent your elder's drinking game in a pub somewhere.  So no, I don't think he'll be upset.  We can ask Yasha to ask him, or whatever, but I already don't think he'd be upset.  He'd probably laugh.  Because irony.  Dad loved irony, Ade said."

Aleksei nodded, and turned behind himself to uncover the frenzywater bottle.  "From now, always when I am drinking, I will first share with Batya Akmenyn."

"Okay, but don't pour him out any frenzywater; I don't trust anyone with that stuff but you," Mi'ishaen said as she focused on Silveredge writing their names.

Prosti menya, brat, kotorogo ya ne zasluzhivayu, i po tvoyey milosti ya budu napravlyat'i zashchishchat' tvoyego rebenka, poka ne umru.  Ya klyanus' tebe v etom kostyami moyego ottsa, kostyami togo, kto umer, otkazavshis' prolit' krov' tvoyego naroda radi gordosti i slavy nashikh liderov.

Many miles away, Akmenyn manifested in his nephew's rented room.  In the candleless dark, sitting at the table, he pulled his trusty deck of cards and began laying out a game of solitaire- with the cards facing away from himself.  Seyashen was busy washing his face and hands in preparation for bed, and Akmenyn's appearance was so sudden and unannounced that it took a full two minutes for the hornless Tiefling to notice him.

"Good sir, who are you?" Seyashen asked, quite close to being utterly terrified by a spirit for the first time in many months.

"Forgotten the family so soon?  You've certainly had my son tagging along behind you for some time," Akmenyn smiled genuinely.  "And here I thought he looked just like me."

"He... he does," Seyashen breathed, checking to see if he were at least partially dressed.  "He does, but... there's... eheh... more to him."

"Yes, he favours fouler fare," Akmenyn admitted.  "What can I say?  I travel light; all the better to do magic with, my dear.  And magic surely shall you do, if you would let my charm shine through."

With a sigh of relief, the mortal Tiefling noted that he wasn't entirely naked.  "Of course, uncle; whatever you want," he urged as he moved toward the chair that had his traveling robe slung over it.

"Oh, now, don't give me carte blanche like that; I might come up with a job that you detest, or that strikes your morality wrong.  Well, maybe someday I might, but as you know, a simple spirit like myself can only do this kind of thing when a strong purpose compels them.  Thus, this time, I need you to write a certain doting father-to-be a bit of advice about a certain stubborn little girl."

"Father-to-be?" Seyashen asked stupidly, noticing that for some reason, his departed uncle had decided that he should be playing a card game dealt for one at a table where both chairs were occupied.

"My, but you are slow," Akmenyn laughed, pleased with all of Seyashen's delayed reactions.  "Imagínate; que es tuyo el regazo en que posan todos los talentos literarios en la familia; aya la vida.  Parece que le valen verga, man.  I suppose I shall have to speak more directly to the business- you are going to write one Ser Aleksei Voyonov a letter in my name, now that he not only knows it, but is so much as pouring it offerings.  With a liquor that no one could pay me to drink, but I do appreciate the sentiment."

And Seyashen, who felt duly chastened for his tendency to feel intellectually superior to his illiterate cousin, got about the business of finding paper and ink.

5:8 War machine.

Sitting in the front room of the Marsember house, the honorably retired Lionar Yeshua Raibeart kept glacial eyes on the almond-colored girl with short, puffy dark hair whose name refused to come to his mind.   Her small hands slowly bound the porcelain white foot of his wife, Hanna.  Hanna did her best to keep quiet, but couldn't avoid a whimper of discomfort when the girl pressed lightly against the swollen ankle to tie the decorative ribbon that would also keep the bandage from coming loose.

A jolt of helplessness, well-masked by annoyance, shot through the old soldier.   "Be careful!  Don't you know what you're doing?" he thundered.

The girl jumped at his bark, and the spool tumbled away from her hand.  Everyone was silent for a moment, simply looking at it, as some of the ribbon came free of it and relaxed onto the chilly wooden floor.

"It's dusty now; are you satisfied?  Pick it up, you sluggard," Yeshua admonished.

Taking a deep breath, the girl reclaimed the ribbon, rewound the bit that had gotten loose, and painstakingly cut it with the shears.  She made sure to avoid leaving the "dirty" ribbon on the spool, taking a clipping and putting it into her pocket, but no comment was made about that.

"Good enough," Hanna said, her words warming the silence just slightly.  "Now, Muki, put all these bindings away, and fetch me the correspondence to read."

"Where is it?" Yeshua demanded, shifting himself in preparation to rise from the hard-backed wooden chair.  "I'll get it, since you can't be bothered to get it yourself."

"Leave those here and fetch the papers first, Muki," Hanna urged, laying a hand over the binding supplies.  "My lord, the girl is here because I cannot tread upon this foot without pain; I don't neglect my duties when I'm able to complete them.  You know that, don't you?"

And Yeshua's mind, backed into trying to remember any time his wife had done anything less than everything he'd expected of her, momentarily dodged off the war path against the young child.

Muki was of no mood to be any more gracious about being spared Yeshua's temper than he had been about her taking care with the ribbon.  She wordlessly got up and turned around to get the few bits of correspondence that had been dropped off at different hours of that morning.

Yeshua grit his teeth as he watched the brown girl easily reclaim the papers from somewhere just beyond his edge of vision, but settled back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest when she ambled back to Hanna and handed them over.  "You would've avoided being hurt if you kept the place up properly.  I do the outside work, and the order out there is noticeable.  Take a lesson from it.  Trinkets and clothing everywhere, as though there weren't any chests or dressers to put them into."

Muki, who had been purposefully biting her lips, turned incredulous eyes to Hanna, who wouldn't look back at her.

"Of course, my lord," Hanna sighed, snatching the mail from the girl's hand with all the irritation that she couldn't afford to allow her voice to betray.  "I'll do my best to improve the matter."

Even the sigh didn't go unnoticed, unfortunately.  Yeshua narrowed his eyes at his wife immediately.  "Don't you make fun of me.  I put up with enough of that from everyone else.  Talking in circles around me as though I were daft.  I know up from down and day from night- and speaking of that, I also know that it's close enough to dusk for there to at least be a few lamps lit.  If we're going to keep this rag doll about, she could at least be useful.  Go light the lamps, you bit of fluff."

"I needn't; 'tis bright midday," the young girl snapped back before Hanna had a chance to say anything.  "An yer sun's dim, complain to Lathander."

Yeshua mounted up speedily into a wordless rage, and his hands slammed down onto the arms of his chair so hard that a bit of sawdust floated from them to the ground in response.

Far from withering or backing down, as all but one of his own children might have done at her age, Muki squared her shoulders, folded her own arms over her narrow chest, and leveled a steely stare worthy of her mother, whose stone hard hands had both given and taken plenty of beatings.

Hanna saw at once the danger looming over the child who could not properly perceive it.  Reaching forward, she grabbed hold of the back of Muki's apron and dragged her back three steps.  "Now, that's no way to speak to a master; I should send you home for a good hiding.  As it is, I can't spare you, and you ought to thank Lathander for that," she fretted.  "Go slice a few pieces of bread and put a bit of water in the kettle for soup.  When the water's ready for the soup bone, put it in and bring me a bit of wine.  Just a bit in one of the proper cups; not a scandalous amount in a flagon.  Then you can start the washing, do you understand?  Slice the bread, heat the soup water, put the soup bone in, bring me some wine, then start the washing.  In that order; don't move tasks around because it seems right to you."

Muki muttered, more to herself than to her temporary mistress, as she all but stomped out of the room.

"Impertinent rodent," Yeshua said, spitting the words as though they were hot metal.  "And she smells badly, too- did you get her from Old Arn?  That wasn't Common she was mumbling in, I'll tell you that."

"What did she say?" Hanna asked grimly as she broke the two wax seals on the letters, nearly afraid of what her husband's answer would be.

"All I could make out was that in her opinion, you asked for the wine so that you could bear it.  'It' being me," Yeshua replied bitterly.  "Everyone whispers, everyone laughs behind their hands, even common midden floaters like that.  Would that I'd died on the battlefield."

"Don't say that, please," Hanna pleaded genuinely, closing her eyes for a moment.  "I never wish that.  I have never wished that.  Please."

"Well, I have, and I do," Yeshua huffed.  "I have a right, so don't moan at me.  I served crown and crest for years, to come home and be treated like some tiresome beast.  If Lathander had any mercy, he'd strike me down this minute, put us all out of my misery.  Now, aren't you going to actually read the papers you asked that pestilential rag doll to hand you?"

Hanna opened her eyes and looked at the sealed papers in her hands, shuffling them briefly.  "One 'monies due' letter from the temple, and one rather short letter from Susanna.  Stephen's wife.  Which do you want to hear first?"

"I already know how much coin I plan to give the priests, and they'll not get a copper more," Yeshua pronounced, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest again.  "What does the little hedge witch say?"

"My lord, remember that Stephen will continue to refuse to allow us to see his children if we keep referring to their mother as though she were some evil hag," Hanna said, striving valiantly to keep the weariness out of her tone.  "She was a priestess of Chauntea, and-"

"And lost her blessing by sitting on our eldest's lap like a paid whore," Yeshua argued.  "Look at the results, then tell me whether or not I'm right.  A wisp of a boy with all the sense and talent of a bent, rusty cart nail, and an idiot girl whose daintiest whisper is like the yowl of a cat skinned and fried alive.  Go on, tell me a good and benevolent goddess attends that useless woman.  Go on, I dare you."

"Saul and Sarai have always reminded me of Aaron and Adassa," Hanna reminded gently as she glanced over Susanna's letter.  "Remember, my lord, how master after master sent Aaron home, because he was only interested in their crafts until he felt that he understood them?  And remember how Adassa bucked against your will when you kept her from the Blue Dragons?  I pray to all that's good that Susanna keeps both her girl children near her, safely, at home, because with all the faithfulness with which we have served Lathander, he did not keep any of our children within my handreach, did he?"

Yeshua gave a muted grunt.  The mention of Adassa didn't ring any bells in the distant, darkened towers of his memories, but for the first time in a few years, he felt that it should, and the feeling rankled irksomely.

"And if my lord will remember," Hanna pressed, taking advantage of her husband's momentary weakness, "his eldest son has four children."

"Four...?" Yeshua asked, bewildered. 

"Yes; Saul, Sarai, Sylvester, and Salone.  All with names beginning with 'S', because the two of them seemed to think it would be great sport to have all of their initials be the same," Hanna stated, her tone as flat as a freshly made tabletop.   "Of all of them, Saul alone has a proper apprenticeship; he's going to be a blacksmith, like his father.  Sarai hasn't been placed yet, Sylvester seems to be... interested in becoming a priest or an official of some sort, and Salone has barely said more than ten words together since she was able to speak at all.  Were it my choice to make, I'd put that girl in a temple, or a rich woman's kitchen, before some coven snatches her off, but Susanna is the mother in that house.  As I said, I pray that her goddess would be kinder to her with her girl children than Lathander was to us with ours."

Yeshua searched his mind for any flicker of familiarity with the names his wife had rattled off, but the sounds simply swirled around his head like dissipating smoke, leaving nothing but frustration in their wake.  He got up from his seat suddenly and began resolutely heading toward the rear of the house.

"What?  Wait, my lord, where are you-" Hanna began, alarmed.  She shifted herself to get up, but the pain that shot from the inside of her ankle up to her hip nearly brought a curse out of her normally pious mouth.

"I'm going to split wood, woman," Yeshua spat without slowing down or turning around.

"My lord- wait!" Hanna called, utterly desperate.  "Yeshua, please wait!  There's... there's  no wood to split!"

 Only about five steps away from the door, the old soldier did indeed stop.  A silence waited behind his heels like a hound with raised hackles.

"It's spring, Yeshua," Hanna said, her tone nearly apologetic.  "I... I didn't order any more wood than we have, because it'll only sit and rot in the damp and heat.  And you've split all of what he have already.  It's here, next to the fireplace, every stick of it."

After a few moments, Yeshua walked back into the room and looked at the cache of wood next to the fireplace.  Surely enough, the finely made copper cradle was completely full.  Some of the wood that would not fit had actually been stacked behind it, and when his eyes lit upon it, he suddenly remembered stacking that extra wood himself.

"I'd be better off fishing, then," Yeshua commented without moving or taking his eyes away from the wood.

"With what boat, my lord?" Hanna asked delicately, unsure of the phase of emotion into which her husband may have been straying.

"What, did we sell it?" Yeshua asked.  Unlike his previous growls and roars, the question came out small and calm.

"No, my lord, but... it is damaged," Hanna replied with the lightest touch of amusement, having noted her husband's change.  "Susanna claims that Stephen said that he will fix it the next time they manage to visit, if Aaron hasn't come home and fixed it himself before then."

"Aaron fixing anything," Yeshua scoffed.  For a blessed moment, he felt the passage of time between the stripling that he had watched disappear on a ship's stern and the adult to whom his wife was referring.  "Does he have children?" he asked after a long pause, wearied by the fact that he simply didn't know.

"Not yet," Hanna chuckled in spite of the situation.  "We have yet to receive word that he and his dear Taricia have been married, one way or another.  Only Ielena and Stephen have children."

"Ielena has children," Yeshua mused, wandering slowly to the back of Hanna's chair.  "I wondered if she would come to anything.  So quiet.  And angry.  Always angry, wasn't she?  What're her children?"

"Don't laugh, but... Rhian and Ori," Hanna answered, choosing not to recall whether or not her eldest daughter seemed to always be upset.  "Remember, Finn McCreigh is a mountain man, and he saddled her poor boys with names anyone with sense would use for a mule or a cow.  She bore them alive, but without any word since then, I don't know if she's managed to keep them that way.  Don't you want to hear Susanna's letter, my lord?"

"Oh, we can't trust what that heretic puts to paper," Yeshua spat, turning away from his wife's chair.  "The years we spent, raising that blockhead to be a servant of Lathander, only for her to drag him down into the worst of sins while calling herself an acolyte.  Wicked bitch."

"Oh!" Hanna cried in feigned offense at the curse, as she Yeshua move toward the stairs with real concern.  "Where are you going now, my lord?"

"To pack our things so that we might go to Suzail and see for ourselves how it is with Stephen... and however many children he's got."

"As sure as I am that you could carry me to Suzail, I'd rather you didn't try," Hanna advised with a coy half-smile that she'd learned long ago from her own mother.  "Remember, I can't go anywhere without being able to walk on this foot.  Come sit, and we can parse Susanna's lies together."

"Ah, that foot of yours," Yeshua complained weakly.  "You should watch where you're putting yourself; that's why you hurt it."

"I know, my lord," Hanna agreed simply.

"And I wish that boy would write to us himself!  Did I not take my hard-earned coin and hire him a tutor?" the retired lionar continued as he stalked back to his chair and sat down heavily.

"You did," Hanna nodded, inwardly trembling with relief.

"He, Aaron, and Iordyn were all taught to read as though they were born nobles, didn't they?  And how do they thank me for it?  By not once setting pen to parchment.  Ungrateful little barnacles."

"Iordyn must still be getting adjusted to his post in the Dragons; it's quite a change to go from the study of priestly matters to martial training.  And Aaron is burning out pirates, my lord," Hanna noted.  "He sent us a fine cask of wine about a month ago; that's what I asked Muki to fetch me."

"If it's any good, I'll bet she's sitting right at the table and drinking it herself," Yeshua huffed.  "I might go check."

"My lord, the child is all of eight years old, loaned us by the neighbors two plots over the road," Hanna smirked, noticing that this time, her husband hadn't shifted an inch in his chair.  "Her daily fare was bread, boiled potatoes, and milk until she came here, and she was never left alone in a kitchen before.  She's likely taking her time because she's not accustomed to all that running a kitchen by herself requires.  We'll know if she's been at the wine if she starts screaming about a sliced thumb or a burned arm."

"Half breeds like that don't feel pain properly, and they're useless both at resisting and tolerating strong drink," Yeshua snorted.  "Go ahead and read; I'll listen for a dropped utensil or pot."

"Good enough," Hanna said firmly.  "Now, for the parade of falsehoods.  'Our dear, beloved father and mother-' Oh, not wasting a moment, but hurrying to lie most flatteringly; you were right, my lord."