The Debt of a Dead Man

Small Village <>

The thunderous fall mists to the south of this tiny valley hidden between the undulating folds of the surrounding hills. Life flourishes flowers, foliage and trees bursting forth to flood the ground with a rich malachite sea of colours. To the west of this hollow, a small Dunlending village squats, a model of pastoral serenity. Some thirty-over stone buildings with thatched roofs nestle in the centre of golden fields. Rising majestically about the village grounds are the Caerdh woods, hiding the village from view of most. From here, all that can be seen of the outside world are the Misty Mountains to the East and the distant stronghold of the Bears to the south.

Darkness hides all but the bass song of the falls to the south and the few pinpricks of candlelight from villagers still up late at night.

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It\'s the end of fall and winter is waiting on the precipice. The harvest is finally gathered and now there\'s a small group of men preparing a trip with considerable haste outside of the Fian\'s home. Ciaran is very late for the council that was called in Creatrach, but given that the harvest wasn\'t going to wait for a meeting, he chose to stick around and help before leaving the village.

It\'s midday, and certainly not the best time to be heading out on a trip, but wasting any time at this point would only further stress the lateness the new Fian is going to suffer. Not that he expects any of the other\'s to listen to his opinions on whatever they\'re meeting about anyhow.

[Brev(#30997)] Out of the mist that cloaks the falls this morn, a single figure emerges. There is little of special note about him: dun-cloaked, with dark hair tied back at the nape of the neck. He looks about him carefully as he nears the village, clearly a stranger here. A messenger? But his pace is unhurried. As he sights the small group gathering outside one particular dwelling, he raises a hand in greeting: the right arm, the sword-arm.

\"Where is Durien? He knew we were leaving, aye?\" Ciaran asks. He has black hair that hangs around his face, with a thin beard that\'s trimmed. His clothes are travel garb, and on his back he\'s shouldering a heavy pack. He\'s holding a carved wooden staff in his hand.

\"He knew we were heading out, Fian.\" One of the men answers. There are four gathered. \"I think he went to get something from his home... Probably saying goodbye to his wife one more time.\"

They all chuckle as the last was said in an implicating fashion, but one of them notices the stranger approaching and speaks up in an alert manner, \"Outsider coming in.\" He speaks up to call, \"Name yourself, traveler!\"

[Brev(#30997)] The traveller halts at the query, keeping his arm raised and in clear view. His chin lifts as he addresses the speaker, the motion causing a few dark curls to slip free of their restraining tie. \"My name is Breveg, son of Barseg, and I seek Fian Donnchad. There is a boon I would ask of him.\" His voice is clear and pitched to carry. His gaze strays toward the rest of the group, his features carefully blank as he awaits reply.

The group of men turn to look at each other, or more specifically their Fian who has a growing frown on his face. They consult quietly, then the guard waves Brev forward even as Ciaran moves forward in approach with one of the other men that\'s armed with a spear. \"I am Ciaran, Donnchad\'s son. What do you wish to ask?\"

[Brev(#30997)] The stranger eyes the frown - and the spear, and his gaze narrows a little. His tone, however, remains even. \"Then I greet you, Ciaran, Donnchad\'s son, and wish you a fair journey, wherever your path may lead. I believe it would be best if my request was made to the Fian himself? My father always spoke well of him, I had hoped ...\" He lets the words trail off into a shrug.

\"My father is gone to Kiern now. I am Fian.\" Ciaran\'s eyes slowly study Brev, drifting to his hands, the state of his clothes, and the knife he wears. His words are quiet and not unkind. \"He always had good things to say for Barseg. What do you seek here?\"

The older man with the spear stands quietly at Ciaran\'s side, watchful but not overtly threatening.

[Brev(#30997)] It is the traveller\'s turn to frown. \"Then I sorrow for his passing. If what I have heard be true, he was a man of wisdom.\" He pauses to clear his throat, then continues.

\"My father is gone also. Five years since he disappeared in my heart I know he walks with Kiern now.\" The words hold a faint echo of regret. \"My brother is dead. I am last of that line.\" His voice remains calm and level, but he raises his hand to rub at his face. \"I would bring honour to my father\'s name. Fian, let me join your men.\"

Ciaran nods slowly, a sympathetic expression on his face for the tale. \"That is unfortunate for you, Breveg. You have my condolences for your losses.\" He glances back towards the other men that are standing back by the his home, the frown returning to his face as his need to be on his way conflicts with an unexpected situation. He returns his gaze to Brev. \"Come.. let us talk inside, out of the cold.\" He says with a hint of resignation, gesturing for the newcomer to follow.

[Brev(#30997)] Breveg dips his head in a nod. \"As you wish, Fian.\" Obediently he follows, keeping his hands well away from his knife-hilt and in clear view. As he walks, he offers quietly, \"I have skill with knife and spear. I cannot claim my father\'s great strength, but with dagger or sling I seldom miss a target. I had thought - I had hoped - that Fian Donnchad would have need of such skills. Surely his son would value them also?\" An awkward, almost pleading note, creeps into his tone.

Ciaran says nothing more until they\'re inside the home. It\'s a bit nicer than the others in the village, but not overly lavish. The Fian doesn\'t go out of his way to live any better than the rest of his people. Off in another room is the quiet sound of a baby crying, but Ciaran ignores it and leads Brev into a sitting room, the man with the spear following and standing just inside the door.

\"Those skills are helpful, but.. do you know anything of farming? Will you be willing to help out in the spring and summer when the plows must be worked and the crops collected? Everyone here does their part.\" The son of Donnchad doesn\'t waste time getting to the point. He still has the sense of urgency.

[Brev(#30997)] Breveg tilts his head at the thread of sound, but at Ciaran\'s words his attention is all for the Fian. \"A carpenter\'s trade is what I know. I can help raise a barn or repair roof timbers, mend wagon wheels and shape plough-handles. I will not claim any knowledge of sowing and reaping, but I can learn. I will learn.\"

\"I am sorry if I am short.. we intended to be on our way by now. I am days late in getting to Creatrach.\" Ciaran\'s brows draw together as shifts his gaze to the wooden stave that he holds, his thumb running over some carved patterns. He lets out a quiet sigh, his eyes returning to Breveg. \"My father often spoke of the debt he owed to yours that was never repaid. Winter comes and we have just finished with the harvest, but I can think of many repairs that could be done before the heavy snows arrive. I am on my way out as soon as my men are prepared, so I am afraid I am not able to give you a proper welcome to our home.\"

He casts a quick glance to the man at the door, then speaks in a more formal tone. \"Would you swear yourself to Ranich and myself as Fian?\"

[Brev(#30997)] \"I would.\" Breveg\'s response comes without hesitation. \"I will trust that the honour of the son is equal to the honour of the father.\" Slowly, and making sure to maintain his distance from Ciaran, he pulls the knife he wears from its sheath and holds it out hilt-first. \"If it is your wish, Fian ...\" He lets that become a question.

\"I can start on the repairs as needed-\" he hesitates, then blurts out \"Fian, let me come with you to Creatrach. If the rumours are true ...\" He does not complete that sentence, instead murmuring haltingly, \"I should begin my service at your side.\"

Ciaran watches Breveg closely, approaching him now as he offers the knife. \"Breveg, son of Barseg, I ask you to swear to serve the Fian of Ranich and uphold the prosperity and best interests of his dominion, until such time that you are released lawfully from service.\" He speaks clearly, the words well-practiced and familiar after years of hearing them at his father\'s side, though it is strange for the new Fian to be saying them in an official capacity for the first time.

[Brev(#30997)] Breveg swallows once, then repeats the words, his voice quiet but still clear. \"I swear to serve the Fian of Ranich, to uphold the prosperity and best interests of his dominion, until such time as I am released lawfully from service ... or join my father in Kiern\'s hall.\" His voice falters just a little at that. Then he closes his hand round the knife-blade, letting out a hiss of breath. When his fist opens it is beaded with blood. He says no more, simply waits, his dark head bowed.

The baby has stopped crying and silence fills the dim room in the wake of Brev\'s oath, the only light from a candle that is slowly melting away in the corner. Ciaran tugs his glove from his hand, then offers it to Breveg to shake, unmindful of the blood. \"Welcome to Ranich.\" He says simply without any hesitation in his voice. The Fian made his decision and seems content to stick with it without worry, despite how hasty it might have been. \"Do you feel you are capable of a hard afternoon\'s travel? We will be pushing as far as we can make it tonight.\"

[Brev(#30997)] Breveg resheaths his knife, wiping it absently on his overtunic in passing, then reaches out to return the handclasp, managing to do so without wincing.

\"Aye, Fian, that I can do. I am no stranger to travel, of late.\" There is almost a wistfulness to his weary smile.

Ciaran hold his hand tightly for a moment, his own rough and calloused from hours of hard labor in the fields with his people. When he releases his grip, he shifts his staff to that hand, unconcerned for the blood that soaks into the polished wood. The Fian turns and moves to a chest of drawers, pulling out a clean linen napkin to offer to Brev. \"Alright. We must leave immediately, and I would like to hear about these rumors you speak of. News does not always reach our quiet home in a timely fashion.\"

[Brev(#30997)] Breveg takes the napkin and presses it against his hand for a moment, without really looking. \"I am ready,\" he asserts. \"As to the rumours - they are but rumours.\" He shrugs. \"But I passed through Creatrach on my way here. I did not linger still, I can tell you what little I know. When I left Diarmid brother of Kedhern seemed to have the most support, but now ... who knows?\"

\"It is decided that a new Ceann will be chosen, then? .. \" Ciaran seems to be in the dark, or maybe he\'s simply testing the newcomer to Ranich lands. \"We can speak as we travel. Let us be going. If Durien is not ready, he will be left behind.\" The last is directed to the man by the door, and the two exchange smirks. He waves Brev to follow as they all head back out into the cold afternoon air.

[Brev(#30997)] Breveg shakes his head. \"It is decided a new Ceann /should/ be chosen. Unfortunately the only thing the Fianni can agree on when it comes to name is that they do not agree ...\" His words fade off as he ducks through the door and prepares for yet one more journey. Only once do his steps pause, and that is when he glances down at his hand and the thin line of red that is scored there, reminder of an oath newly taken ...