Catching a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of an overly tipsy lurikeen being reacquainted with his ale, Adelia stifled a giggle. Poor 'keen, she thought, remembering how they had set up a special punchbowl at her wedding reception just for the lurikeens to get drunk in...


"How have you been feeling since Samhain? I'm sorry that I was," Ayslyn paused, looking slightly embarrassed, "Unavailable."


Smiling softly the druid reached over and squeezed his hand. "I know, lad. I'd imagine ye had a full evening planned that night. Don't worry about me, I had a few bad days but I'm up and about now. Still havin' a bad dream or two, but well, that's been happening for years now, 'tis nothing new." The arrival of food and drink prevented her from explaining any further, and the barkeep Morden grinned brightly down at Adelia.


"e know lass, the first round 'ere is always paid for with a story," he informed her. The druid looked longingly at the mug of ale he'd thumped down upon the table, her mouth nearly watering at the sight.


"I cannae drink anything though, I'm under orders nae to have any drink 'til after the," she broke off. Despite the fact that the tavern seemed happy and peaceful, she was still surrounded by members of enemy realms, and she furtively pulled her dark green cloak a little closer. It was a poor disguise, but it was all she had. "Well, nae for a while," Adelia finished, blushing. Glancing down he took a closer at Adelia and realization sparkled in Morden's eyes as he nodded in reply.


"Well, ye just keep that in mind fer when ye can have one, lass." Turning, he disappeared back into the cheerful din of the busy tavern. A new set of musicians picked up a lively tune and several people began moving chairs and tables to widen the space for the growing group of dancers. Adelia looked wistfully at the energetic crowd; it had been some time since she'd been able to dance. No matter, she thought, starting in hungrily on her bowl of stew.


"As I was sayin'," Adelia turned to her friend, pausing to brush a delinquent lock of red hair from her eyes. "'Tis been stressful since Samhain. Though I had to admit, I was surprised that I'd fainted again and ye didnae show up," she grinned. "e must be slackin' on yer job."


A small fire-haired lass spun across the room, planting a kiss on an Alb lad as he stepped through the door. Adelia burst into peals of laughter at the sight, "There ye go, first steps towards peace in the realms: ale and kisses."

Tatton had been wandering dazedly for a day (or was it longer). His hand clutched at the small box inside his jerkin as he approached the lighted tavern.


Walking to the door, and past the signs and sleepin' cat without notice, he walked in to rest his feet.


"e got ta' hand over yer blade and shield Sire." Tatton was still a bit dazed. As if with someone elses hands, he unbuckled his scabbard and laid his shield to the man. Then he walked to a chair in a dark corner and sat. He heard muffled music and laughter about him.


"Care fer a bite ta' eat sah?" A patron of the tavern asked him. With an inhale he realized he was hungry, famished in fact. His eyes had sunken and the strange pits in his stomach were not just from his troubles.


"Um, yes... yes please." (was that his own voice? It was rasp and dry. No hint of the bard's sweet tone). "And a tall ale I think."


"a' know doncha, that for a tale, yer first drink 'd be on tha' house?" She smiled at Tatton.


Tatton just looked up and set down some gold coins for the maid.


As she tarried off, Tatton began to look around. He saw some familiar faces, though none he knew quite well. Then some odd ones. (Is that a saracen? <he shook his head a bit> and a Paladin there?)


He awakened from his daze to a nightmare. Tatton jumped to his feet (although his feet weren't ready for that). As he tried to find the door and get out of the corner table he tripped awkwardly, his drum landed with a thud beside him. And looking up from the ground he saw a huge troll that he had landed next to, sitting in a creaking chair. Nervous and clumsy his eyes looked into the trolls'. (Is that a grin? Do trolls grin?).......

 

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Ayslyn chuckled, "Aye. Age must be getting to me," he grinned. "How are the plans for Arianna's wedding going, and Magnoliah's? I finaly got to meet the elusive Kardanor. He's a good lad." He leaned back into the chair. Taverns, inns, and pubs relaxed him. They were good for him, allowing him to reconnect with humanity, while not getting close enough to trigger his one great fear. He silently thanked Rhiannon for people like Adelia, and Tayana who refused to let him retreat into the wilds, and instead almost demanded that he come out of the walls he had fashioned about himself. His ears twitched slightly as he heard the two lasses from Nawg speaking of him. He grinned as they drew the lad they were with out onto the dance floor. He didn't recognize the Saracen girl, but if his people were correct, the regal-looking woman could only be the Baroness Winterbourn. He looked up in mild surprise as Crispian and Tobyas wandered in, and laughed cheerily when Crispian blushed at being kissed. Watching Tatton, his eyes narrowed in concern. The lad did not look good. He had been asking everyone of a mystical bent strange questions of late, and there were marks of strain etched onto his features. He nodded towards the care-worn bard. "What do you know of him," he asked Adelia.

 

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Crispian finally broke away from the dancing celt girls and their companion, and made way toward where Tobyas had two tankards of ale. Toby passed him one with a smirk.


"I hope your up to some public speaking, for these ales cost us a tale a piece, so you'd best be thinkin' of something," he said around his smirk.


Crispian brushed back his hair, leaving it a mass of cowlicks and spikes. He felt so carefree and wonderful, even if just for these few moments. He smiled at Toby, and chuckled. "A story is it? Oh, I can think of one or two, I am sure."


Toby blushed, but was not sure why. "ou best be watching what tales you tell, Lord Seneschal!"

 

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The last thing he remembered was the Tomb Raider's call for help, and feeling a killing blow land on the back of his neck. His spirit must have released he decided as he came to his senses.


Yual sat up, and barely got his helm off in time, the sickness he felt confirming he had indeed been dead only recently. Once his stomache stopped, he pulled a canteen of water from his pack and washed his mouth out.


Maneuvering himself over onto his hands and knees, he lifted his head and looked into two of the largest feline eyes he had ever seen.....

Yual never let his gaze waver from the eyes as he stood, the purple flicker told him that he was no match for this beast, sick or not. As he reached for the mace hanging next to his kilt, he wondered if the bindstone magic would work properly this time, and why was the cat grinning at him?

A pair of great cats waited outside the Crossroads: Chanell's lynx Rags and Adelia's disobedient matriarch (who she referred to as "cat" or "that damned cat" as the beast refused to come when called anyway.) Looking down at the silly man who smelled of illness and confusion the matriarch decided she had had enough. Leaning forward the cat quickly licked a huge, pink, sandpapery tongue across the man's face, and then turning bounded past Rags and pushed the tavern door open. The crowd parted easily for the giant cat, who padded directly over to its mistress' table and helped itself to Adelia's chunk of bread.


"Bad kitty!" she scolded loudly as the cat laid at her feet and devoured its prize. "I told ye to stay outside! Bad!"

It seemed to the Champion that he had walked for days. Actually, thinking back he realized that he had. The trail was getting cold, and he was beginning to worry.


The guards at Dun Bolg claimed to have seen a Celt female, judging by her stature - too tall for a lurikeen, but almost too small for anything else - traveling with a large lynx. She had stopped in for water from the cistern and snacked on some cakes. They knew she had falming red hair, but little else could be told about her, owing to the voluminous cloak she wore.


"But was she with child?" No one knew. He thanked the guards and headed off in the direction they had indicated. North.


"I'll bet she is getting into the nonsense in Emain, chasing the Middies around like it was some sort of game. Tis an odd thing to suddenly be the only one with sense in the household," he muttered as he walked.


Suilebhain wore the green scaled tunic he recently took to favoring, preferring to show the enemy no fear instead of skulking about like a shadow. Black armor would be fair enough when others' lives were at stake, a mission, perhaps, but he was an Elven Champion of Hibernia, in Hibernia's frontier, and he'd not slink around like a thief or assassin. He knew there was little chance of hiding anyway, even if he wanted to try. His bloodline reached back into the lineage of the Elven Lords and Ladies of Old, tall and fair was he, pale of complexion and with long straight colorless hair, like he was partially insubstantial. He knew not his parentage, but had listened to the words of the Siabra woman, Caomahn, as she tried to bring to his mind his heritage, and those of Ealisaid, sister to and sworn enemy of the chieftain of the Siabra delegation, Isliffell. For having little contact with Elves most of his life, his recent days had seemed very full by contrast.


Once or twice, he was pulled from his reverie, which may have been due to his growling belly, vacant of food for nealry a day now, to fihgt off or escape from one or more of the beasts of prey that lurked in the wilds. Once, he steered a wide birth around a group of Siog Waylayers who had set up an operation along the road.


"Better to avoid them than to invite conforntation," he thought, and kept his sword in its scabbard, thus avoiding the attention it would attract with its shimmering red and blue fairyfire running along its blade. Imp-made stuff held a definite attraction for him. His boots crunched along the path, past the demon infested standing stones and outposts of the horrible Fomorians. At least he found no cairn, no body. There was hope. There would be no rest until he found her.


As the sun settled in the west for the fifth time since he departed Druim Ligen, he saw what appeared to be a flickering light, like a small fire, off in the distance. It could be her, he mused, or it could be something terrible. Most of the time, fires in the frontier would bode ill for the traveller who approached them. Drawing his sword, he slowly approached the distant light.


As he got closer, he saw the silhouette of something very large, but could not make it out in the gloaming. There seemed to be a sound carried on the wind.....music! It was not the music of the faerie, though. He was not being lured to his death by some enchantment. This was the earthy music of humans, the music of dance and parties.


"It could be Albs," he thought, and spit. Albionans slew him and Adelia on thier way to a relic raid, even though a ceasefire was in effect and he had strict orders not to engage. Lambs to the slaughter. This time, the lamb was a ram bearing a horn, he thought. Standing alongside what was clearly a shuttered window, he peered inside. There were a number of people eating, dancing, talking. Cautiously, he opened the door and prepared to enter the Inn, which by all rights, should not have been where it was. Suilebhain shrugged.


"e only die for a short time, then ye get to go through it all over again," he mused.


He pushed the door open with the tip of his broadsword and looked inside, prepared to take as many as might rush him until he at last fell.

I just stood there, stunned for a moment as the cat bounded through the doorway. After a moment I noticed a second cat there, sitting and staring at me. "Well hello to you too" I said, still trying to place my befuddled wits back in their proper spots. The cat, looked me over and seemed to laugh, before looking over to the doorway. "Of all the things" Yual muttered and this time I reached for my brother's Great Sword. "A Hib, out here..." As my hand clasped the hilt, the cat moved with deceptive grace and 'bumped' into my legs, causing me to fall on my plated arse. I looked over at the cat and saw a look of disappointment in the feline features, before it padded off and settled down to bathe itself. "Hurmmph" was my only reply, as I struggled back to my feet, slowly making my way to the door, keeping my hands well away from my weapons.

Fatima felt pricklies on the back of her neck as she heard others in the tavern apparently discussing her. Whether they were or not, it was the impression she had and she shifted uncomfortably while looking down at her half-empty bowl of stew.

Leaving her cloak draped over the second seat and her uneaten bread on the table beside a small leather-bound book of poetry, she picked up her bowl and stood, glancing around the room for Margery. She found the robust woman chatting with en elven lady seated at a stool, but managed to catch her eye. Without words, the two exchanged a knowing look and Margery winked and nodded towards the kitchen.


Ah, the kitchen. To Fatima it was the heart of the place. A roaring fire kept stoked at all hours gave up hot oatmeal in the mornings and savory stews and roasted meats for dinners and suppers. The smells and warmth of the place was like no other she had known; she made a beeline for the kitchen door in search of that comfort with the guise of clearing her place.

Fatima knew this kitchen well. It was her salvation, so to speak. Its comfort all but erased the past.


Born into slavery, she grew up in an unforgiving atmosphere in a harsh desert land. When she became old enough to bleed, she was sold to a trader. Unable to speak, she listened to the slaves she was bound to and believed the rumors that her fate was to give her life in a pagan sacrifice.

Somehow, in one brief shining instant, a miracle was given to her. She was left unbound for a moment, and none were there to see her flee and dive into a hay cart headed north.

She stayed hidden in the cart for a full day and most of one night, barely breathing for fear of discovery. When the cart stopped and a kindly, though impatient man spoke, she froze in fear, "Well I guess this must be your stop my dear. I apologize for the lack of conversation, but I figured you must have needed your rest back there."

She did not move.

"es, come now, I have a delivery to make. You'll be needing to get out now. You there, in the hay."

Fatima picked up her head and pulled straw from her hair as she stared at the old man. He pointed to the door of the tavern and smiled. Confused, but grateful, Fatima bowed her head in thanks to the man and climbed out of the cart.

She made her way, shoeless and dressed in rags, to the door and gently nudged. It was the middle of the night, who could be making so much jolly noise inside?

It was Margery who greeted her at the door and made her aquaintence first, quickly offering her the place to work for food and board and fellowship. The Crossroads was truly heaven to Fatima. Her job in the kitchen, away from the more rauccous main area, gave her endless joy for the year that she stayed.


And now she was back in her familiar surroundings. It almost felt like what home should be. Perhaps, if Yual found her, she would be able to find this feeling with him.