Elendor
Oath of Fealty
The Fianni of the Bear Clan swear fealty to their new Ceann
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Dunland - Creatrach
Description: Hall of Fire -- Creatrach Keep
The Hall of Fire is the main eating and entertaining hall in the keep. It is not only a place to exchange stories of travels and battles, but also where the clansfolk living in the keep eat their meals. Two hearths lay on the long walls, one for the cooking of the meals and containing large cauldrons, the other is for relaxation by and is surronded by various wooden furnishings. The table in the middle of the rooms almost runs the entire length of this room. It is quite plain but has a strip of red Bear cloth running its length. At the far end of the table is a larger chair than the rest for the Chieftain of the clan. Above that chair on the far wall is another rampant bear tapestry not unlike the one in the main foyer. Under that on the wall a door leading to perhaps the Chieftain's chambers. Next to the cooking hearth is another larger door that leads to various clansfolk chambers and the Guest Quarter.
[Olmys(#32384)] The Hall of Fire has been greatly rearranged for the this evenings ceremony. The table have been pushed to the side to make a path way towards teh raised dias where the High Seat of Clan Bear sits for the nonce. The walls are decked with myrtle branches, yew, and holly, and the smell of evergreens fills the vast hall, mingled with the smoke of fires and the harsh reek of the numerous men filling the room. The music of pipers and a large war drum adds to the cacophony of noise as the men speak and chat amiably with one another.
The music rises to a fervant pitch and then ceases as do the voices of the men. In the dead silence of the Hall, Gregoir Laoighire steps out from the Ceann's chamber and strides purposfully to the dias. Splendid in a crimson coat heavily embroidered with golden thread, buttoned with silver, and with rose cuffs.
Stepping onto the dias and before his seat he turns to face his assembled Fianni and their men. Raising his arms above his head he greets them with a ringing shout.
"HAIL BEAR!"
Ciaran Ranich is standing talking to one of the other Fianni about agriculture, which is no real surprise to anyone. He's holding his staff casually and is arguing animatedly about the benefits of different varieties of fertilizer for the soil. His black hair hangs around his face, casting some of his features in shadow, but the man's beard is neatly trimmed and he's wearing fresh, clean garments for the occasion.
When Gregoir makes his entrance, the Fian turns to regard him, and calls in a cheerful response, "Hail Ceann!"
[Gabhran(#15443)]
A chorus of strong male voices, plied with liquor, answer back, with raised fists and mugs.
"Hail Ceann!"
Maybe Aeden didn't get the memo, or maybe he refused to let anyone tell him he's not a 'fighting man' of the clan. The young heir of Kavangh is standing up on one of the tables that was pushed against the wall, on his tiptoes as he tries to see past the throng of tall men standing in the way. Despite the complete betrayal of supporting another man as Ceann, the boy is obviously excited about the event and exclaims loudly with the rest to greet Gregoir.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir offers a deep bow to the assembled clansmen. "We gather here tonight to witness a new beginning for the Clan Bear," he says. "I give all of you my oath that so long as I am Ceann, the people of clan Bear will not go without, I will give justice and mercy as well as protection to all no matter how high or low they station in the clan." With that he takes his seat and then nods that the ceremony can begin.
Rhuadri Maulduin is the first of the Fianni to advance to Gregoir's platform. He is richly dressed as well, but in plain chesnut with no gold lace or embrordiery, so as not to distract attention from Gregoir's magnificence.
Maulduin draws his dirk with a flourish, and despite his bad leg, sinks to one knee, holding the dagger upright by the blade. His voice is aged, and less powerful than Gregoir's, but loud enough that each word rings through the hall.
"I swear by the name of Kiern and by the sacred iron that I hold, to give you my fealty and pledge you my loyalty to the name of the Clan Bear. If ever my hand shall be raised against you in rebellion, I ask that this sacred iron shall pierce my heart."
He lowers the dirk then, kisses it at the juncture of haft and tang, and thrusts it home into its sheath. Still kneeling he then offers both of his hands clasped to Gregoir, who takes them between his own and lifts them to his lips in acceptance of the the oath offered. The he raises Maulduin to his feet.
Turning Gregoir picks up an immense silver tankard from the table at his side. Lifting the heavy cup with both hands, he drinks from it, then offers it to Maulduin. Maulduin takes a healthy swallow and then hands the cup back. Then, with a final bow to the Lord of Clan Bear, Maulduin steps to one side to allow the next man ready to give his oath room to apprpach.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
"Can you see from there?"
Another boy Aeden's age and size - maybe a little older - climbs onto a chair before taking a bold, big step onto the same table that Aedens stands upon. Wispy thin hair clings onto his head but his cheeks are ruddy and dimpled when he smiles.
But Aeden would have to meet the young Fian Alois Odhran another time, for Gabhrann Kavanagh walks up to the table.
"Time to take your first step to manhood, boy." He says to Aeden, before walking towards the dias.
Standing taller than most, due mostly to his wild shock of hair that explodes from his head, is the unmistakable Fian Gabrhan Kavanagh. Old and gnarled he may be, he stands tall and erect. His face may be inscrutable, but the pride of the Bear clan that emanates from within, is nothing but.
Grunting, Gabhran shouldershoves an over-eager young Fian out of his way. As the old man walks past Maulduin, he turns his head to face his old friend, muttering, "Age before beauty."
Aeden turns when he hears the other boy and grins. "Yeah! Mostly!" The eight year-old is just pointing out to Alois the opening in the crowd that he's able to see through when Gabhran approaches the table. The youth still feels a familiar chill of fear run through him anytime he looks at the large, hulking man, but doesn't dare to disobey his grandfather. He jumps down off the table and hurries after the man, and as they approach Gregoir all that Aeden can suddenly think about is dog with an arrow in it's side.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir rises from his seat and bows deeply to Fian and heir. "Welcome Kavanaghs," he greets the pair formerly. "Do the Kavanaghs have any requests of Clan of Ceann to make before giving their oath?" he asks. As he waits for Gabharn's reply he gives Aeden a smile and a very slight, almost impercetible wink.
Gabhran places his gnarled, giant hand on his grandson's head.
"Kneel before your Ceann, Aeden, as your forefathers have done before you."
His voice is harsh, but the pressure he applies to the boy's head is gentle.
"The Kavanaghs pledge to fight by your side, in the name of the Bear. I ask only that should I be slain, then let Aeden take my place."
The child that looks so small next to his grandfather's massive form swallows visibly and looks between Gabhran and the new Ceann. His father wouldn't have approved of him hesitating and he bolsters his courage while he kneels down. "I have a request, Ceann." Aeden says boldly, and before his grandfather can interrupt he spills what he wants in a rush of words, "I want to stay here in Creatrach, so that I can learn with your men to be the best warrior and Fian."
[Olmys(#32384)] Before giving any sign that he accepts the oath given, Gregoir looks from Aeden to Gabhran. "The Kavanagh have been the clan's strong southern guard for years innumerable," he says. "Without them the clan would have fallen long ago. It would be my honor, Fian Kavanagh, to foster the boy Aeden here at Creatrach for a few years. He will train with the men of the guard, sit in at my councils, and learn the workings of the clan and of leadership. I will care for him not only as a member of Clan Bear, but as if he were of my own family. In return when I have an heir of my own, I will send him to foster in the Kavanagh hold. In this the ties between Laoighire and Kavanagh will grow stronger." He pauses then and turns to Gabhran, waiting for the Fian to speak.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
The old man remains as steady as an ancient oak though he continues to face the floor. Only Aeden could feel the slight tremor in the warm, large hand that touches his head. And once, Gabhran's wheezing seems to cause him pain.
"So eager to get away from me, are you."
The hand lingers on Aeden's thick hair for a heartbeat longer before it slips off.
The elder Kavanagh looks up to Gregoir. "Whatever you think best, Ceann." The old man mutters.
[Olmys(#32384)] From where he stands leaning upon his cane Maulduin gives Gabhran a nod. "Aye don't worry Kavanagh," he says. "Your daughter's about to give Calblach a babe, I'll send that one your way. Kiern knows I don't need any more heirs in my hold."
Aeden stiffens when his grandfather's hand trembles, cringing faintly in expectation of a more violent representation of Gabhran's feelings. When none is forthcoming the boy lets out a held breath and spares a quick, wary glance for the man. He looks back to Gregoir and speaks as some color begins to return to his face, "I give my pledge too, Ceann."
[Gabhran(#15443)]
"Who said I was worried?" Gabhran snaps at Maulduin. "And you can keep your brats. I've no use for them."
Slowly, he rises to his feet and looks down at the little boy who looks so much like Brodie when he was that age. Suddenly, Gabhran looks as if he aged all at once.
"I've enough to do without a youngling underfoot. Ceann, you have my permission to beat him senseless if he gives you lip. I expect him to learn discipline and respect."
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir gives a nod of acceptance, but he does not take up the silver goblet as yet. "I have one more thing to ask of you, Fian Kavanagh," he says. "As my grandfather and some of the other Fianni have pointed out, I have no experience when it comes to leading me in battle. It is something that I will learn in time, I am sure, but considering current events time is something we may not have."
He pauses a moment and then turns to Maulduin who gives a slight nod. "If there is another in this clan who knows more of the ways of war and leading men in battle I have not met him, so I ask you, Gabhran Kavanagh will you remain here in Creatrach and serve as my Warlord?"
Aeden stands up as his grandfather does, looking up at the man, then over at Maulduin. When Gabhran gives Gregoir permission to beat the snot out of him the child's eyes widen. Wisely, he says nothing, which is good since the Ceann is now asking the large, scary man to stick around.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
Surely, there are those young warriors within the Bear clan who clench their fists and tighten their jaws with anger and envy at this appointment.
"Ceann, if I may.. with all due respect, Gabhran Kavanagh is a cripple. He hasn't been able to wield his axe. His body is so torn up he can't march across the courtyard without stopping for a breath, let alone march to battle!" An anonymous voice rings out from the crowd, expressing what was on many of the men's mind.
The proud old man stands still, taking the verbal assault that must hurt more than a sword thrust.
Aeden twists around sharply to glare at the crowd, "He could beat the piss out of you!" The boy calls out in anger to the faceless accusor.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir rises from his chair and lets his eyes wander across the crowd as if searching for the one who spoke these words. "I did not ask him to lead an assault against our enemies," he says flatly. "Though I've no doubt in my mind that he could and would given the chance and oppurtunity. Fian Kavanagh has fought in more battles than most of us put together, he knows what it takes to win in a fight, and that is what I need to learn from him."
He glances down towards Aeden and smiles at the boy's outburst. "You see the loyalty he garners from those close to him?" he asks turning back to the crowd. "I put my faith in his ability to serve the clan in this capacity and that should be enough for all of you."
He turns then to Gabhran. "Will you accept, Fian?" he asks. "Or would you first like to, as your grandson puts it, beat the piss out of your detractors to prove that you are more than able to handle the position?"
Gabhran Kavanagh stands as still as an oak tree as the new Ceann responds to the opposition with newfound authority in the tone of his bone. The old man Kavanagh continues to stand still as Gregoir poses the question again, his shoulders rising and falling only slightly with each loud wheeze.
When he does move, he does not answer the Ceann. The old man turns his massive head, made even more massive by his wayward shock of hair, to look down upon Aeden. Some wince at the motion, expecting the poor little boy to receive yet another backhand across his face for speaking when not spoken to.
Instead, the old man scoops up the boy in his arm, lifting him easily from the ground with just one arm, raising him high into the air, so that he goes airborne for one glorious, breathtaking second. The next moment, the boy is sitting on Gabrhan's massive shoulders, head and shoulders above the rest.
"Point out the man who said it, boy. We're going to go beat the piss out of him."
Many expect a smack, Aeden included. Before he can even try to duck out of the way he's pulled up from the floor and weightless for a moment before settling on his grandfather's shoulders. He grips the man for one, long, terrified breath, trembling as he had thought Gabhran was going to hurl him at a wall or something equally unpleasant. When the real intent of his grandfather is spoken, Aeden relaxes and peers around the room to try and figure out who it was that spoke. "I think he was back there.." He says, pointing.
While Gabhran and his grandson are hunting down the errant Fian that made the insult, Ciaran of Ranich takes advantage of the lull to approach Gregoir. He does so in a simple, unassuming fashion, his manner measured with patience. He bends a knee and rests the carved wooden staff on the floor. "Ceann, I give my oath to serve with loyalty and honor for the prosperity of Clan Bear and all it's people."
[Brev(#30997)] Somewhere near the back of the hall, Breveg has been watching dutifully, though the spectacle only seems to have half his attention, for he is murmuring quietly to the man next to him - not a Ranich, as it happens. As Ciaran approaches the dais he breaks off and stands rigidly attentive - quite the model retainer, seen and not heard.
[Olmys(#32384)] As he did with his grandfather, Gregoir reaches out and takes hold of Ciaran's hand and raises it to his lips in acceptance of the oath. "I accept the oath of Ranich on behalf of Clan Bear," he says and stands to raise the Fian to his feet.
Again he takes the silver goblet from the table. "Before we share the drink to seal the oath, does Ranich wish to request anything of me or the clan?" he asks.
Ciaran stands, considering the question in quiet contemplation. "No, Ceann. Thank you." There's no show of the scorn that he exhibited the other night when Gregoir confessed to the scandal. Perhaps Ranich is willing to forgive and forget.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir nods solemnly and then lifts the immense tankard to his lips and takes a healthy swallow of the potent whiskey. He then extends the cup to Ciaran and waits in silence.
[Brev(#30997)] Breveg stands in silence as he watches the ceremony, features politely blank, and a few locks of hair carefully brushed across his face to hide the fading bruising at his right temple. Only his amber eyes betray a weary boredom.
Ciaran doesn't hesitate to take up the tankard, tipping it back to drink as well. The Fian hands it back to the younger man, then bows and waits for the Ceann's approval before moving back to join his men, Brev catching his eye. He gives the man a nod of acknowledgement.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir bows formally to the Fian of Ranich and returns to his seat. When he turns to greet the next person to step forward he's somewhat surprised to see Cameron of the Kavanagh's standing before him.
"A Fian I am not, but I wish to give you my oath as well," says the old warrior as he drops to his knees. "Gregoir Laoighire," he begins without waiting for a reply from the Ceann. "I swear to you freely that which I have my help and goodwill, where ever you shall find need of them. I give you my obedience and I hold myself bound by your word so long as you be Ceann of Clan Bear.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir bows formally to the Fian of Ranich and returns to his seat. When he turns to greet the next person to step forward he's somewhat surprised to see Cameron of the Kavanagh's standing before him.
"A Fian I am not, but I wish to give you my oath as well," says the old warrior as he drops to his knees. "Gregoir Laoighire," he begins without waiting for a reply from the Ceann. "I swear to you freely that which I have my help and goodwill, where ever you shall find need of them. I give you my obedience and I hold myself bound by your word so long as you be Ceann of Clan Bear."
Gregoir nods to the old warrior and takes his hand and kisses it in acceptance of the oath. "I am honored by your oath," he replies. "I accept your obedience and all that you give." Gregoir turns then, lifts the tankard, drinks and holds it out to Cameron.
Cameron accepts the tankard with a smile. Instead of the customary ceremonial swallow, he carefully raises the nearly full vessel, tilts it and drinks. And keeps on drinking, the powerful throat muscles bulging with the effort. Draining the immense vessel of the last drop he lowers it with an explosive gasp of air and hands it back to Gregoir.
"The honor is mine," he says a little hoarsely, "to serve a Ceann with such fine taste in whiskey."
[Brev(#30997)] Breveg dips his head in response to Ciaran's nod, the motion conveying courtesy if not warmth. The fellow beside him murmurs something, but he keeps his features carefully blank and does not turn his head.
When Cameron mounts the dais, however, his stance relaxes somewhat, and his lips twitch despite himself. "Some blighters'll do anything for a drink, eh?" he mutters to his neighbour, not bothering to hide the chuckle. "Hope the Ceann didn't waste the good stuff. Else might have been cheaper to give him a Fianship."
Ciaran watches Breveg, noting the change in the man's attitude. It's not difficult for him to guess why. He looks over to watch the spectacle that Cameron makes, a smile tugging at the Fian's lips, then he looks back to his retainer and beckons him towards a (somewhat) emptier corner of the room.
[Olmys(#32384)] Once the tankard has been refilled other Fianni step forward to give their oaths to the Ceann and take their ceremonial drink from the tankard. Gregoir's own drinks grow notably smaller and smaller as the evening draws on.
[Brev(#30997)] At Ciaran's gesture, Breveg's smile fades, and with a shrug of one shoulder he slips away from the others he has been companying with. By the time he reaches Ciaran's side, he is once again the dutiful retainer. "Fian? Is there something you need?"
It's fairly noisy in the room, but Ciaran lowers his voice as he leans in to speak in Brev's ear. "Our new Ceann seems to be in a rather generous mood. If you hold any ambition for reclaiming your father's lands, now might be the best time to put the request forward." He pauses to let the man process the quiet words through the volume of the revelers around them, then continues, "It would be mutually beneficial for us." He doesn't elaborate, but his tone suggests he has reasoning to support his suggestion.
[Brev(#30997)] Breveg turns his head to regard Ciaran sombrely. "Fian, I am sworn to you," he protests, seemingly in earnest, then continues, "I doubt the new Ceann would wish to have the north beholden to Ranich, that would upset the balance of power. Besides," he adds in a tone that suggests he has given the issue careful consideration, "I have neither the support nor the manpower to hold those lands. Such things change, in time." He gives a thin-lipped smile. "I will let time itself speak for me."
The Fian of Ranich studies Brev, as he has several times before. He speaks quietly still, "I value your oath, but I also value the friendship our fathers held, and the favors Barseg granted my father. Much of our prosperity stemmed from the considerations that Ranich was given. Gain the title now and you can let time sort the rest out. I don't want to see the lands fall into Maulduin's lap any more than you do."
[Brev(#30997)] (repose)Breveg appears troubled by Ciaran's urging - or perhaps simply by the fact that the student in the art of manipulation has now become the teacher? "Perhaps, amongst the nobility, that is the way that things are done." Dutiful retainer or no, he cannot quite keep the distaste from his tone. "But out there," he jerks his shoulder to indicate the rest of the hall, where Cameron's oath has been seen as a general excuse to bring out the drink - alas, watery ale and not fine whisky - "deeds speak louder than words or an accident of birth. I have won no mighty battles, built no mighty Keeps. When I have deeds to my name, then is the time to act, surely."
The flow of words is smoothly uttered, but he keeps a wary eye on Ciaran, as though he had sought a deer and found a lynx. "You have reason to believe that Maulduin is moving up there?" By the tone of the query, the concern is not a new one to him.
"Maulduin is ambitious and needs only an excuse to send his people north to what are questionably empty lands. These rumors of the Hawk up north have largely stemmed from Maulduin himself and what better way to let his sons and grandsons scope out the lands around Mathain than by sending them to 'look into' these rumors." Ciaran glances back towards the Ceann, watching him take another swig of whiskey. "The right is yours as Barseg's son, and as I said.. Once you have the title, the rest can be gained in time. Choose as you wish, I can always play nice with Maulduin. It only seems a valuable opportunity in my eyes. I will support your claim should you wish to make it."
[Brev(#30997)] Breveg sighs, clearly uncomfortable with Ciaran's words. However, when the man has ended his speech, he replies simply, "As you wish, Fian," as though the speech had been order and not suggestion. "I will try to speak with him, when things are a little quieter." And, as the tray of ale-mugs heads in their direction, he slips away. Some things are better faced with a clear head.
Ciaran frowns. "It is your decision, Breveg." He says as the man departs, then moves to return to the group he had been standing with before he took his oath.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
By the time Diarmad pulls away from the far wall, more than half the whiskey and drunk have been drunk by the merry men. He himself does not partake in the celebration, thus, he is able to walk that straight line to the new Ceann.
Whether the Ceann notices or not, he follows the motions of all the Fianni before him. Bent knee, bowed head, offering of the hand.
"I take this oath on behalf of the Kedherns. I pledge myself and them to you, so long as you are Ceann of the clan Bear."
[Brev(#30997)] Diarmad may have hoped to escape notice by others, but here and there in the crowd heads turn and men edge their way toward the dais - his followers, perhaps. One, a simple-looking fellow with an untidy thatch of nut-brown hair, gives a long sigh as the oath is offered, and reaches for an ale-mug as though ready to mirror his Ceann's fealty with a drink of his own. "And what of my brother?" he murmurs softly, though the words may yet carry. "Will he be avenged?" He peers doubtfully upward toward the tableau atop the dais.
Ciaran doesn't immediately notice the newest oath-taker.. he's in a quiet conversation with some men. One of them nudges the others and points out Diarmad, and that's when Ranich turns and watches, curiosity on his face. He was there for the confession, after all.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir reaches out and takes Diarmad's hand into his own and lifts it to his lips in acceptance of this oath. "After all that has happened since this gathering was called, I am honored and touched to the heart that you would swear to me, Diarmad," he says. He stands and helps the Fian to his feet.
"I can not return to you all that was lost, Diarmad," he says. "Nor can I remove your grief, but I pledge to you that I will do all that I can to see you and your hold returned to its former strength."
Gregoir looks towards those who have followed the Fian to the dais before he says more. "To begin the rebuilding of your hold and to help those widows and orphans amongst your people, I have decided that the monthly tribute from the Maulduins will not go to me, but to Kedhern."
He then turns to lift the tankard from the table, lifts it to his lips and takes a small swallow. "Drink with me brother," he says extending the mug towards Diarmand. "Drink with me and let us show all those who think otherwise that we have put the past behind us, and look now to the future."
[Gabhran(#15443)]
"You are very generous, Ceann Gregoir. I am sure that such wealth will go a long way to healing."
Diarmad replies with a smile that stretches across his lips. His eyes have sunk into his sockets, ringed with the dark smoke of sleepless nights.
"There will be no revenge unless the Ceann wishes it." He answers the lad with a slight turn of his head. "Enough blood of Kedherns have been spilled."
[Brev(#30997)] A sigh, this time more audible. "That's a lot of tithes," someone murmurs, appreciatively. The brown-haired fellow rounds on him. "Tithes? Blood calls for blood. Won't bring him back, but it would honour his name. We're not coin-grubbing Stag."
At Diarmad's response, he stares at his own full tankard, as though uncertain now what to do with it, then looks past Fiann to Ceann. "Does the Ceann wish it?"
The Fian of Ranich continues watching, his brows lifting at the eloquent words and gift of the Ceann. He looks at least faintly impressed by the generosity, and more than likely is trying (and failing) to his his feelings entirely.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir gives a soft sigh at the question from the fellow behind Diarmad. "I wish Bear to regain its place of power in Dunland," he says. "I wish us to quit fighting amongst ourselves, I wish for the other clans to look at us with respect and awe, not with the contempt they have shown us in recent years. Some of you may yearn for land in Redvyrne, or even land in Laeg, but I say we must first be able to protect the land we already hold. Until we are able to hold and populate all of Caerdh, we have no right to seek lands outside of the county."
He fixes his gaze upon the fellow who spoke. "Do I wish for revenge for the men of Kedhern who were lost?" he asks. "Aye, I do. Though where shall we seek that revenge? Shall I have my grandfather's blood for what happened? That will only cause more fighting within the clan. Would your brother be avenged by the shedding of clansmen blood who had naught to do with their death? Or shall we seek vengance from the Wulf? Go to war with them and spill our blood and weaken the clan. Will that avenge your brother?" He waits not for response but turns back to Diarmad and extends the tankard once more.
"Will you drink, brother?" he asks again.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
"The Ceann has spoken, Duhane. Respect his wishes."
The younger Kedhern addresses the voice, then looks at the offered tankard with lifeless eyes.
"It will be a pleasure, Ceann, to drink with you."
He reaches out to take the tankard and stares into the content, as if trying to read the future. Just when people thought he would not drink it, he raises the rim to his lips and slips the harsh liquid down his gullet.
"Aye." The brown-haired Kedhern clansman answers the Ceann, whether it is heard or no. The words are low but firm. "Wulf owe us blood. When time comes, we'll take it at the Ceann's order."
He looks then to Diarmad, and dips his head in a nod, though the expression on his stolid features has less of respect than it does of shame. Then, mirroring his Fian, he lifts his own tankard to his lips, though who can say if he swallows?
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir nods and takes the tankard after Diarmad has drank and returns it to the table. He then claps the Fian of Kedhern on the shoulder. "You honor me greatly, Diarmad."
Then turning he motions towards the servants at the back of the hall who roll out fresh barrels of ale and smaller casks of whiskey. "Now that all the oaths have been given," he declares. "Let us celebrate!"
There is a joyous mood in the hall tonight. Men who a scant handful of days ago were at each others throats are now comrades. There is much toasting, much singing, much back-slapping, and even the boasting is good-natured. With so much jostling, it is hardly surprising that the odd ale gets spilled. The fellow known as Duhane holds an empty mug, its contents pooling on the floor by his feet. He stares at the stain a moment, then threads his way through the crowd and melts into the shadows.
"Aye." The brown-haired Kedhern clansman answers the Ceann, whether it is heard or no. The words are low but firm. "Wulf owe us blood. When time comes, we'll take it at the Ceann's order."
He looks then to Diarmad, and dips his head in a nod, though the expression on his stolid features has less of respect than it does of shame. Then, mirroring his Fian, he lifts his own tankard to his lips, though who can say if he swallows?
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir nods and takes the tankard after Diarmad has drank and returns it to the table. He then claps the Fian of Kedhern on the shoulder. "You honor me greatly, Diarmad."
Then turning he motions towards the servants at the back of the hall who roll out fresh barrels of ale and smaller casks of whiskey. "Now that all the oaths have been given," he declares. "Let us celebrate!"
There is a joyous mood in the hall tonight. Men who a scant handful of days ago were at each others throats are now comrades. There is much toasting, much singing, much back-slapping, and even the boasting is good-natured. With so much jostling, it is hardly surprising that the odd ale gets spilled. The fellow known as Duhane holds an empty mug, its contents pooling on the floor by his feet. He stares at the stain a moment, then threads his way through the crowd and melts into the shadows.
The Hall of Fire is the main eating and entertaining hall in the keep. It is not only a place to exchange stories of travels and battles, but also where the clansfolk living in the keep eat their meals. Two hearths lay on the long walls, one for the cooking of the meals and containing large cauldrons, the other is for relaxation by and is surronded by various wooden furnishings. The table in the middle of the rooms almost runs the entire length of this room. It is quite plain but has a strip of red Bear cloth running its length. At the far end of the table is a larger chair than the rest for the Chieftain of the clan. Above that chair on the far wall is another rampant bear tapestry not unlike the one in the main foyer. Under that on the wall a door leading to perhaps the Chieftain's chambers. Next to the cooking hearth is another larger door that leads to various clansfolk chambers and the Guest Quarter.
[Olmys(#32384)] The Hall of Fire has been greatly rearranged for the this evenings ceremony. The table have been pushed to the side to make a path way towards teh raised dias where the High Seat of Clan Bear sits for the nonce. The walls are decked with myrtle branches, yew, and holly, and the smell of evergreens fills the vast hall, mingled with the smoke of fires and the harsh reek of the numerous men filling the room. The music of pipers and a large war drum adds to the cacophony of noise as the men speak and chat amiably with one another.
The music rises to a fervant pitch and then ceases as do the voices of the men. In the dead silence of the Hall, Gregoir Laoighire steps out from the Ceann's chamber and strides purposfully to the dias. Splendid in a crimson coat heavily embroidered with golden thread, buttoned with silver, and with rose cuffs.
Stepping onto the dias and before his seat he turns to face his assembled Fianni and their men. Raising his arms above his head he greets them with a ringing shout.
"HAIL BEAR!"
Ciaran Ranich is standing talking to one of the other Fianni about agriculture, which is no real surprise to anyone. He's holding his staff casually and is arguing animatedly about the benefits of different varieties of fertilizer for the soil. His black hair hangs around his face, casting some of his features in shadow, but the man's beard is neatly trimmed and he's wearing fresh, clean garments for the occasion.
When Gregoir makes his entrance, the Fian turns to regard him, and calls in a cheerful response, "Hail Ceann!"
[Gabhran(#15443)]
A chorus of strong male voices, plied with liquor, answer back, with raised fists and mugs.
"Hail Ceann!"
Maybe Aeden didn't get the memo, or maybe he refused to let anyone tell him he's not a 'fighting man' of the clan. The young heir of Kavangh is standing up on one of the tables that was pushed against the wall, on his tiptoes as he tries to see past the throng of tall men standing in the way. Despite the complete betrayal of supporting another man as Ceann, the boy is obviously excited about the event and exclaims loudly with the rest to greet Gregoir.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir offers a deep bow to the assembled clansmen. "We gather here tonight to witness a new beginning for the Clan Bear," he says. "I give all of you my oath that so long as I am Ceann, the people of clan Bear will not go without, I will give justice and mercy as well as protection to all no matter how high or low they station in the clan." With that he takes his seat and then nods that the ceremony can begin.
Rhuadri Maulduin is the first of the Fianni to advance to Gregoir's platform. He is richly dressed as well, but in plain chesnut with no gold lace or embrordiery, so as not to distract attention from Gregoir's magnificence.
Maulduin draws his dirk with a flourish, and despite his bad leg, sinks to one knee, holding the dagger upright by the blade. His voice is aged, and less powerful than Gregoir's, but loud enough that each word rings through the hall.
"I swear by the name of Kiern and by the sacred iron that I hold, to give you my fealty and pledge you my loyalty to the name of the Clan Bear. If ever my hand shall be raised against you in rebellion, I ask that this sacred iron shall pierce my heart."
He lowers the dirk then, kisses it at the juncture of haft and tang, and thrusts it home into its sheath. Still kneeling he then offers both of his hands clasped to Gregoir, who takes them between his own and lifts them to his lips in acceptance of the the oath offered. The he raises Maulduin to his feet.
Turning Gregoir picks up an immense silver tankard from the table at his side. Lifting the heavy cup with both hands, he drinks from it, then offers it to Maulduin. Maulduin takes a healthy swallow and then hands the cup back. Then, with a final bow to the Lord of Clan Bear, Maulduin steps to one side to allow the next man ready to give his oath room to apprpach.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
"Can you see from there?"
Another boy Aeden's age and size - maybe a little older - climbs onto a chair before taking a bold, big step onto the same table that Aedens stands upon. Wispy thin hair clings onto his head but his cheeks are ruddy and dimpled when he smiles.
But Aeden would have to meet the young Fian Alois Odhran another time, for Gabhrann Kavanagh walks up to the table.
"Time to take your first step to manhood, boy." He says to Aeden, before walking towards the dias.
Standing taller than most, due mostly to his wild shock of hair that explodes from his head, is the unmistakable Fian Gabrhan Kavanagh. Old and gnarled he may be, he stands tall and erect. His face may be inscrutable, but the pride of the Bear clan that emanates from within, is nothing but.
Grunting, Gabhran shouldershoves an over-eager young Fian out of his way. As the old man walks past Maulduin, he turns his head to face his old friend, muttering, "Age before beauty."
Aeden turns when he hears the other boy and grins. "Yeah! Mostly!" The eight year-old is just pointing out to Alois the opening in the crowd that he's able to see through when Gabhran approaches the table. The youth still feels a familiar chill of fear run through him anytime he looks at the large, hulking man, but doesn't dare to disobey his grandfather. He jumps down off the table and hurries after the man, and as they approach Gregoir all that Aeden can suddenly think about is dog with an arrow in it's side.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir rises from his seat and bows deeply to Fian and heir. "Welcome Kavanaghs," he greets the pair formerly. "Do the Kavanaghs have any requests of Clan of Ceann to make before giving their oath?" he asks. As he waits for Gabharn's reply he gives Aeden a smile and a very slight, almost impercetible wink.
Gabhran places his gnarled, giant hand on his grandson's head.
"Kneel before your Ceann, Aeden, as your forefathers have done before you."
His voice is harsh, but the pressure he applies to the boy's head is gentle.
"The Kavanaghs pledge to fight by your side, in the name of the Bear. I ask only that should I be slain, then let Aeden take my place."
The child that looks so small next to his grandfather's massive form swallows visibly and looks between Gabhran and the new Ceann. His father wouldn't have approved of him hesitating and he bolsters his courage while he kneels down. "I have a request, Ceann." Aeden says boldly, and before his grandfather can interrupt he spills what he wants in a rush of words, "I want to stay here in Creatrach, so that I can learn with your men to be the best warrior and Fian."
[Olmys(#32384)] Before giving any sign that he accepts the oath given, Gregoir looks from Aeden to Gabhran. "The Kavanagh have been the clan's strong southern guard for years innumerable," he says. "Without them the clan would have fallen long ago. It would be my honor, Fian Kavanagh, to foster the boy Aeden here at Creatrach for a few years. He will train with the men of the guard, sit in at my councils, and learn the workings of the clan and of leadership. I will care for him not only as a member of Clan Bear, but as if he were of my own family. In return when I have an heir of my own, I will send him to foster in the Kavanagh hold. In this the ties between Laoighire and Kavanagh will grow stronger." He pauses then and turns to Gabhran, waiting for the Fian to speak.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
The old man remains as steady as an ancient oak though he continues to face the floor. Only Aeden could feel the slight tremor in the warm, large hand that touches his head. And once, Gabhran's wheezing seems to cause him pain.
"So eager to get away from me, are you."
The hand lingers on Aeden's thick hair for a heartbeat longer before it slips off.
The elder Kavanagh looks up to Gregoir. "Whatever you think best, Ceann." The old man mutters.
[Olmys(#32384)] From where he stands leaning upon his cane Maulduin gives Gabhran a nod. "Aye don't worry Kavanagh," he says. "Your daughter's about to give Calblach a babe, I'll send that one your way. Kiern knows I don't need any more heirs in my hold."
Aeden stiffens when his grandfather's hand trembles, cringing faintly in expectation of a more violent representation of Gabhran's feelings. When none is forthcoming the boy lets out a held breath and spares a quick, wary glance for the man. He looks back to Gregoir and speaks as some color begins to return to his face, "I give my pledge too, Ceann."
[Gabhran(#15443)]
"Who said I was worried?" Gabhran snaps at Maulduin. "And you can keep your brats. I've no use for them."
Slowly, he rises to his feet and looks down at the little boy who looks so much like Brodie when he was that age. Suddenly, Gabhran looks as if he aged all at once.
"I've enough to do without a youngling underfoot. Ceann, you have my permission to beat him senseless if he gives you lip. I expect him to learn discipline and respect."
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir gives a nod of acceptance, but he does not take up the silver goblet as yet. "I have one more thing to ask of you, Fian Kavanagh," he says. "As my grandfather and some of the other Fianni have pointed out, I have no experience when it comes to leading me in battle. It is something that I will learn in time, I am sure, but considering current events time is something we may not have."
He pauses a moment and then turns to Maulduin who gives a slight nod. "If there is another in this clan who knows more of the ways of war and leading men in battle I have not met him, so I ask you, Gabhran Kavanagh will you remain here in Creatrach and serve as my Warlord?"
Aeden stands up as his grandfather does, looking up at the man, then over at Maulduin. When Gabhran gives Gregoir permission to beat the snot out of him the child's eyes widen. Wisely, he says nothing, which is good since the Ceann is now asking the large, scary man to stick around.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
Surely, there are those young warriors within the Bear clan who clench their fists and tighten their jaws with anger and envy at this appointment.
"Ceann, if I may.. with all due respect, Gabhran Kavanagh is a cripple. He hasn't been able to wield his axe. His body is so torn up he can't march across the courtyard without stopping for a breath, let alone march to battle!" An anonymous voice rings out from the crowd, expressing what was on many of the men's mind.
The proud old man stands still, taking the verbal assault that must hurt more than a sword thrust.
Aeden twists around sharply to glare at the crowd, "He could beat the piss out of you!" The boy calls out in anger to the faceless accusor.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir rises from his chair and lets his eyes wander across the crowd as if searching for the one who spoke these words. "I did not ask him to lead an assault against our enemies," he says flatly. "Though I've no doubt in my mind that he could and would given the chance and oppurtunity. Fian Kavanagh has fought in more battles than most of us put together, he knows what it takes to win in a fight, and that is what I need to learn from him."
He glances down towards Aeden and smiles at the boy's outburst. "You see the loyalty he garners from those close to him?" he asks turning back to the crowd. "I put my faith in his ability to serve the clan in this capacity and that should be enough for all of you."
He turns then to Gabhran. "Will you accept, Fian?" he asks. "Or would you first like to, as your grandson puts it, beat the piss out of your detractors to prove that you are more than able to handle the position?"
Gabhran Kavanagh stands as still as an oak tree as the new Ceann responds to the opposition with newfound authority in the tone of his bone. The old man Kavanagh continues to stand still as Gregoir poses the question again, his shoulders rising and falling only slightly with each loud wheeze.
When he does move, he does not answer the Ceann. The old man turns his massive head, made even more massive by his wayward shock of hair, to look down upon Aeden. Some wince at the motion, expecting the poor little boy to receive yet another backhand across his face for speaking when not spoken to.
Instead, the old man scoops up the boy in his arm, lifting him easily from the ground with just one arm, raising him high into the air, so that he goes airborne for one glorious, breathtaking second. The next moment, the boy is sitting on Gabrhan's massive shoulders, head and shoulders above the rest.
"Point out the man who said it, boy. We're going to go beat the piss out of him."
Many expect a smack, Aeden included. Before he can even try to duck out of the way he's pulled up from the floor and weightless for a moment before settling on his grandfather's shoulders. He grips the man for one, long, terrified breath, trembling as he had thought Gabhran was going to hurl him at a wall or something equally unpleasant. When the real intent of his grandfather is spoken, Aeden relaxes and peers around the room to try and figure out who it was that spoke. "I think he was back there.." He says, pointing.
While Gabhran and his grandson are hunting down the errant Fian that made the insult, Ciaran of Ranich takes advantage of the lull to approach Gregoir. He does so in a simple, unassuming fashion, his manner measured with patience. He bends a knee and rests the carved wooden staff on the floor. "Ceann, I give my oath to serve with loyalty and honor for the prosperity of Clan Bear and all it's people."
[Brev(#30997)] Somewhere near the back of the hall, Breveg has been watching dutifully, though the spectacle only seems to have half his attention, for he is murmuring quietly to the man next to him - not a Ranich, as it happens. As Ciaran approaches the dais he breaks off and stands rigidly attentive - quite the model retainer, seen and not heard.
[Olmys(#32384)] As he did with his grandfather, Gregoir reaches out and takes hold of Ciaran's hand and raises it to his lips in acceptance of the oath. "I accept the oath of Ranich on behalf of Clan Bear," he says and stands to raise the Fian to his feet.
Again he takes the silver goblet from the table. "Before we share the drink to seal the oath, does Ranich wish to request anything of me or the clan?" he asks.
Ciaran stands, considering the question in quiet contemplation. "No, Ceann. Thank you." There's no show of the scorn that he exhibited the other night when Gregoir confessed to the scandal. Perhaps Ranich is willing to forgive and forget.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir nods solemnly and then lifts the immense tankard to his lips and takes a healthy swallow of the potent whiskey. He then extends the cup to Ciaran and waits in silence.
[Brev(#30997)] Breveg stands in silence as he watches the ceremony, features politely blank, and a few locks of hair carefully brushed across his face to hide the fading bruising at his right temple. Only his amber eyes betray a weary boredom.
Ciaran doesn't hesitate to take up the tankard, tipping it back to drink as well. The Fian hands it back to the younger man, then bows and waits for the Ceann's approval before moving back to join his men, Brev catching his eye. He gives the man a nod of acknowledgement.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir bows formally to the Fian of Ranich and returns to his seat. When he turns to greet the next person to step forward he's somewhat surprised to see Cameron of the Kavanagh's standing before him.
"A Fian I am not, but I wish to give you my oath as well," says the old warrior as he drops to his knees. "Gregoir Laoighire," he begins without waiting for a reply from the Ceann. "I swear to you freely that which I have my help and goodwill, where ever you shall find need of them. I give you my obedience and I hold myself bound by your word so long as you be Ceann of Clan Bear.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir bows formally to the Fian of Ranich and returns to his seat. When he turns to greet the next person to step forward he's somewhat surprised to see Cameron of the Kavanagh's standing before him.
"A Fian I am not, but I wish to give you my oath as well," says the old warrior as he drops to his knees. "Gregoir Laoighire," he begins without waiting for a reply from the Ceann. "I swear to you freely that which I have my help and goodwill, where ever you shall find need of them. I give you my obedience and I hold myself bound by your word so long as you be Ceann of Clan Bear."
Gregoir nods to the old warrior and takes his hand and kisses it in acceptance of the oath. "I am honored by your oath," he replies. "I accept your obedience and all that you give." Gregoir turns then, lifts the tankard, drinks and holds it out to Cameron.
Cameron accepts the tankard with a smile. Instead of the customary ceremonial swallow, he carefully raises the nearly full vessel, tilts it and drinks. And keeps on drinking, the powerful throat muscles bulging with the effort. Draining the immense vessel of the last drop he lowers it with an explosive gasp of air and hands it back to Gregoir.
"The honor is mine," he says a little hoarsely, "to serve a Ceann with such fine taste in whiskey."
[Brev(#30997)] Breveg dips his head in response to Ciaran's nod, the motion conveying courtesy if not warmth. The fellow beside him murmurs something, but he keeps his features carefully blank and does not turn his head.
When Cameron mounts the dais, however, his stance relaxes somewhat, and his lips twitch despite himself. "Some blighters'll do anything for a drink, eh?" he mutters to his neighbour, not bothering to hide the chuckle. "Hope the Ceann didn't waste the good stuff. Else might have been cheaper to give him a Fianship."
Ciaran watches Breveg, noting the change in the man's attitude. It's not difficult for him to guess why. He looks over to watch the spectacle that Cameron makes, a smile tugging at the Fian's lips, then he looks back to his retainer and beckons him towards a (somewhat) emptier corner of the room.
[Olmys(#32384)] Once the tankard has been refilled other Fianni step forward to give their oaths to the Ceann and take their ceremonial drink from the tankard. Gregoir's own drinks grow notably smaller and smaller as the evening draws on.
[Brev(#30997)] At Ciaran's gesture, Breveg's smile fades, and with a shrug of one shoulder he slips away from the others he has been companying with. By the time he reaches Ciaran's side, he is once again the dutiful retainer. "Fian? Is there something you need?"
It's fairly noisy in the room, but Ciaran lowers his voice as he leans in to speak in Brev's ear. "Our new Ceann seems to be in a rather generous mood. If you hold any ambition for reclaiming your father's lands, now might be the best time to put the request forward." He pauses to let the man process the quiet words through the volume of the revelers around them, then continues, "It would be mutually beneficial for us." He doesn't elaborate, but his tone suggests he has reasoning to support his suggestion.
[Brev(#30997)] Breveg turns his head to regard Ciaran sombrely. "Fian, I am sworn to you," he protests, seemingly in earnest, then continues, "I doubt the new Ceann would wish to have the north beholden to Ranich, that would upset the balance of power. Besides," he adds in a tone that suggests he has given the issue careful consideration, "I have neither the support nor the manpower to hold those lands. Such things change, in time." He gives a thin-lipped smile. "I will let time itself speak for me."
The Fian of Ranich studies Brev, as he has several times before. He speaks quietly still, "I value your oath, but I also value the friendship our fathers held, and the favors Barseg granted my father. Much of our prosperity stemmed from the considerations that Ranich was given. Gain the title now and you can let time sort the rest out. I don't want to see the lands fall into Maulduin's lap any more than you do."
[Brev(#30997)] (repose)Breveg appears troubled by Ciaran's urging - or perhaps simply by the fact that the student in the art of manipulation has now become the teacher? "Perhaps, amongst the nobility, that is the way that things are done." Dutiful retainer or no, he cannot quite keep the distaste from his tone. "But out there," he jerks his shoulder to indicate the rest of the hall, where Cameron's oath has been seen as a general excuse to bring out the drink - alas, watery ale and not fine whisky - "deeds speak louder than words or an accident of birth. I have won no mighty battles, built no mighty Keeps. When I have deeds to my name, then is the time to act, surely."
The flow of words is smoothly uttered, but he keeps a wary eye on Ciaran, as though he had sought a deer and found a lynx. "You have reason to believe that Maulduin is moving up there?" By the tone of the query, the concern is not a new one to him.
"Maulduin is ambitious and needs only an excuse to send his people north to what are questionably empty lands. These rumors of the Hawk up north have largely stemmed from Maulduin himself and what better way to let his sons and grandsons scope out the lands around Mathain than by sending them to 'look into' these rumors." Ciaran glances back towards the Ceann, watching him take another swig of whiskey. "The right is yours as Barseg's son, and as I said.. Once you have the title, the rest can be gained in time. Choose as you wish, I can always play nice with Maulduin. It only seems a valuable opportunity in my eyes. I will support your claim should you wish to make it."
[Brev(#30997)] Breveg sighs, clearly uncomfortable with Ciaran's words. However, when the man has ended his speech, he replies simply, "As you wish, Fian," as though the speech had been order and not suggestion. "I will try to speak with him, when things are a little quieter." And, as the tray of ale-mugs heads in their direction, he slips away. Some things are better faced with a clear head.
Ciaran frowns. "It is your decision, Breveg." He says as the man departs, then moves to return to the group he had been standing with before he took his oath.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
By the time Diarmad pulls away from the far wall, more than half the whiskey and drunk have been drunk by the merry men. He himself does not partake in the celebration, thus, he is able to walk that straight line to the new Ceann.
Whether the Ceann notices or not, he follows the motions of all the Fianni before him. Bent knee, bowed head, offering of the hand.
"I take this oath on behalf of the Kedherns. I pledge myself and them to you, so long as you are Ceann of the clan Bear."
[Brev(#30997)] Diarmad may have hoped to escape notice by others, but here and there in the crowd heads turn and men edge their way toward the dais - his followers, perhaps. One, a simple-looking fellow with an untidy thatch of nut-brown hair, gives a long sigh as the oath is offered, and reaches for an ale-mug as though ready to mirror his Ceann's fealty with a drink of his own. "And what of my brother?" he murmurs softly, though the words may yet carry. "Will he be avenged?" He peers doubtfully upward toward the tableau atop the dais.
Ciaran doesn't immediately notice the newest oath-taker.. he's in a quiet conversation with some men. One of them nudges the others and points out Diarmad, and that's when Ranich turns and watches, curiosity on his face. He was there for the confession, after all.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir reaches out and takes Diarmad's hand into his own and lifts it to his lips in acceptance of this oath. "After all that has happened since this gathering was called, I am honored and touched to the heart that you would swear to me, Diarmad," he says. He stands and helps the Fian to his feet.
"I can not return to you all that was lost, Diarmad," he says. "Nor can I remove your grief, but I pledge to you that I will do all that I can to see you and your hold returned to its former strength."
Gregoir looks towards those who have followed the Fian to the dais before he says more. "To begin the rebuilding of your hold and to help those widows and orphans amongst your people, I have decided that the monthly tribute from the Maulduins will not go to me, but to Kedhern."
He then turns to lift the tankard from the table, lifts it to his lips and takes a small swallow. "Drink with me brother," he says extending the mug towards Diarmand. "Drink with me and let us show all those who think otherwise that we have put the past behind us, and look now to the future."
[Gabhran(#15443)]
"You are very generous, Ceann Gregoir. I am sure that such wealth will go a long way to healing."
Diarmad replies with a smile that stretches across his lips. His eyes have sunk into his sockets, ringed with the dark smoke of sleepless nights.
"There will be no revenge unless the Ceann wishes it." He answers the lad with a slight turn of his head. "Enough blood of Kedherns have been spilled."
[Brev(#30997)] A sigh, this time more audible. "That's a lot of tithes," someone murmurs, appreciatively. The brown-haired fellow rounds on him. "Tithes? Blood calls for blood. Won't bring him back, but it would honour his name. We're not coin-grubbing Stag."
At Diarmad's response, he stares at his own full tankard, as though uncertain now what to do with it, then looks past Fiann to Ceann. "Does the Ceann wish it?"
The Fian of Ranich continues watching, his brows lifting at the eloquent words and gift of the Ceann. He looks at least faintly impressed by the generosity, and more than likely is trying (and failing) to his his feelings entirely.
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir gives a soft sigh at the question from the fellow behind Diarmad. "I wish Bear to regain its place of power in Dunland," he says. "I wish us to quit fighting amongst ourselves, I wish for the other clans to look at us with respect and awe, not with the contempt they have shown us in recent years. Some of you may yearn for land in Redvyrne, or even land in Laeg, but I say we must first be able to protect the land we already hold. Until we are able to hold and populate all of Caerdh, we have no right to seek lands outside of the county."
He fixes his gaze upon the fellow who spoke. "Do I wish for revenge for the men of Kedhern who were lost?" he asks. "Aye, I do. Though where shall we seek that revenge? Shall I have my grandfather's blood for what happened? That will only cause more fighting within the clan. Would your brother be avenged by the shedding of clansmen blood who had naught to do with their death? Or shall we seek vengance from the Wulf? Go to war with them and spill our blood and weaken the clan. Will that avenge your brother?" He waits not for response but turns back to Diarmad and extends the tankard once more.
"Will you drink, brother?" he asks again.
[Gabhran(#15443)]
"The Ceann has spoken, Duhane. Respect his wishes."
The younger Kedhern addresses the voice, then looks at the offered tankard with lifeless eyes.
"It will be a pleasure, Ceann, to drink with you."
He reaches out to take the tankard and stares into the content, as if trying to read the future. Just when people thought he would not drink it, he raises the rim to his lips and slips the harsh liquid down his gullet.
"Aye." The brown-haired Kedhern clansman answers the Ceann, whether it is heard or no. The words are low but firm. "Wulf owe us blood. When time comes, we'll take it at the Ceann's order."
He looks then to Diarmad, and dips his head in a nod, though the expression on his stolid features has less of respect than it does of shame. Then, mirroring his Fian, he lifts his own tankard to his lips, though who can say if he swallows?
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir nods and takes the tankard after Diarmad has drank and returns it to the table. He then claps the Fian of Kedhern on the shoulder. "You honor me greatly, Diarmad."
Then turning he motions towards the servants at the back of the hall who roll out fresh barrels of ale and smaller casks of whiskey. "Now that all the oaths have been given," he declares. "Let us celebrate!"
There is a joyous mood in the hall tonight. Men who a scant handful of days ago were at each others throats are now comrades. There is much toasting, much singing, much back-slapping, and even the boasting is good-natured. With so much jostling, it is hardly surprising that the odd ale gets spilled. The fellow known as Duhane holds an empty mug, its contents pooling on the floor by his feet. He stares at the stain a moment, then threads his way through the crowd and melts into the shadows.
"Aye." The brown-haired Kedhern clansman answers the Ceann, whether it is heard or no. The words are low but firm. "Wulf owe us blood. When time comes, we'll take it at the Ceann's order."
He looks then to Diarmad, and dips his head in a nod, though the expression on his stolid features has less of respect than it does of shame. Then, mirroring his Fian, he lifts his own tankard to his lips, though who can say if he swallows?
[Olmys(#32384)] Gregoir nods and takes the tankard after Diarmad has drank and returns it to the table. He then claps the Fian of Kedhern on the shoulder. "You honor me greatly, Diarmad."
Then turning he motions towards the servants at the back of the hall who roll out fresh barrels of ale and smaller casks of whiskey. "Now that all the oaths have been given," he declares. "Let us celebrate!"
There is a joyous mood in the hall tonight. Men who a scant handful of days ago were at each others throats are now comrades. There is much toasting, much singing, much back-slapping, and even the boasting is good-natured. With so much jostling, it is hardly surprising that the odd ale gets spilled. The fellow known as Duhane holds an empty mug, its contents pooling on the floor by his feet. He stares at the stain a moment, then threads his way through the crowd and melts into the shadows.
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