Rainath and Rogar, and Karla

"You'll need to go see him," the older man told him quietly. Rogar nodded grimly, chill beginning to set in.

"Your sister's worried about you," he added, and Rogar nodded again.

"Ma?" He asked in a humble voice, to which Cathon shrugged.

"She knew you'd go to Karla, sort yourself out." His guts twisted in shameful guilt, that even his mother should-

"Rogar, no one holds a grudge against you the way you do, yourself, man. Let it go," Cathon interjected, clapped him on the back firmly enough to make it an order. Rogar sighed heavily, levering himself back onto his feet with a hand on the workbench.

"Can I borrow a shirt?" He asked his brother in law, fighting shivers.

***

As it happened, it was only he, Cathon and Joran at tea. The collective relief was palpable and most of the meal passed in masculine silence.

"Gram and Jade are eating at the forgehouse, settling Rainath in," triped Joran casually, collecting the dishes afterward.

"Do ye even go to your lessons?" Asked his father in disgust, making Joran grin.

"Aye, I just take different paths coming and going so I don't miss anything."

"You sound like your uncle, and look what that's got him," counseled Cathon ominously. "Hounded half to death by women, and now he has to go and give a beating to a man that saved his life," he half-jested, subtly recalling Rogar to his duties. Joran looked proud at being compared to him, but Rogar couldn't think why.

Rogar didn't know the lad, but he knew the family and the house, when Cathon told him. The walk took a scant twenty minutes, even when he drew it out the best he could. The man of the house answered Rogar's knock, and shook his hand warmly, thanking him for coming to his son's aid.

"Aye, my blood for a brother," Rogar vowed respectfully. "Will ye send him out, please?"

When the lad came out, he looked like a dog that's been in the chickens. Gods, thought Rogar, he barely had whiskers, what they had him on watch for to begin with, was beyond him.

"How are ye, Bron, is it?" Rogar started, awkwardly.

"Aye, thank ye, sir." He said, struggling to meet Rogar's eye. "I'm alright... sore, but lucky to be alive, and I thank ye for it, if you hadn't-" Rogar waved him off, grunting.

"I owe ye my life as well, lad. If you hadn't got a shout off to rouse us, they might have gotten us all." The boy blushed faintly.

"By the same token," he went on, hardening his voice, "you fell asleep at your post, son, and you might have cost us all our lives. You should have dropped the bar on the door, at least," Rogar added in a pragmatic undertone. Bron nodded, head dropped in shame.

"Let me see it," Rogar told him, jutting his chin at the boy's side. The wound had healed far enough to close itself, but it was still a rift of dried blood and curled flesh a hand long. He turned the lad around to his good side, and landed the first halfhearted blow to his ribs, drawing a wheeze.

He didn't think he could do it, but once he thought of the attack, he found enough anger at the young fool's errors to administer a respectable punishment. To his credit, the lad kept his feet, hands at his sides and breath coming in sobs, until Rogar had finished.

Rogar surprised himself by pulling the boy in for an embrace at the end. "It's how my da always finished a beating," he laughed, releasing him. Bron did his best to look manly, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"You'll report to Kyl, to be retrained at the watch," Rogar told him sternly, work yet to be done. "And you'll stay out of that bloody lodge until he tells you otherwise, d'ye hear?" He nodded, head hanging.

"The debt on your life I wouldn't claim, but that I'd like ye to look out for my mother's new apprentice, and make Cathon aware if she has any trouble," Rogar added, voice nearing a mutter. His eyebrows went up, but his nod suggested he knew which apprentice Rogar meant.

"Don't you go laying your life down for her," Rogar warned gruffly. "There's better men for the job," privately, he thought any challenge this lad won would be one she could likely manage herself. He sent the lad back to bed, fondly hoping he'd never see him again.

After beating a man whose life he'd saved, facing Rainath to account for his earlier actions was top on his list of things he'd rather not do. Having accomplished the former, the only logical thing was to head home for supper so he could get on with the latter.

He was late; they were already seated around the dinner table, the meal half finished when he walked in. Some of them looked more surprised than others to see him, apparently his presence at tea was not general knowledge. A wonder, he thought, with Joran's tendency to gossip like a woman.

"Hullo," he greeted shyly, nodding vaguely at the gathering. He took his seat and Opal passed him a plate of food.

"Thanks, mam," he muttered, not meeting her eye.

"Of course, honey," she answered as though he hadn't been away for five years and missing for eight days, gone to hell and back.

His throat felt tight, and he was glad to have eating for an excuse to not speak.

"C'mon, Jo," Cathon told his son, when he'd finished eating. "Let's go throw an ax." Joran looked thrilled to forego his chores, abandoning ship immediately. Cat's footsteps marked their retreat down the hall and out the back door.

"I'm going to go, too," Opal announced, excusing herself with a pat on her son's shoulder.

Abandoned by his allies, Rogar faced the aspects of fury and regret with only a dinnerplate for a shield.

"I don't know what you were doing at the lodge to begin with," Jade started in, when staring daggers wasn't enough any longer, "or why ye haven't been home, though you've been back for two days-" she accused.

"Aye, there's a lot you don't know," Rogar agreed levelly, eyes on his food, the embodiment of brotherhood. Jade sputtered indignantly. Rainath picked at the remnants of her food, rapt.

"I know you were with that bloody woman," Jade spat, "though what hold on you she could possibly-"

"That's enough," Rogar warned, voice lowered to deadly tones.

"...still have, I can't fathom, the adultering-" Rogar slammed his palm onto the table, rattling crockery and silencing Jade's harping immediately.

"Go and tell your husband what you've just said to me," her brother ordered, his voice calm but his eyes alight with fury. Jade stared murder back at him, apparently she'd expected him to take it out on her himself.

Their battle-to-the-death of wills ended with Jade slapping her palms on the table and giving a barely suppressed scream of frustration, slamming her chair backward into the wall and storming away. Just then, Rainath imagined she hadn't changed a hair since she was fourteen.

With Jade gone, Rogar finished the last few bites of his supper in silence. Rainath analyzed the grain of the tabletop patiently, unsure what to expect when he spoke again. When he finally did, the depth of his voice startled her and made her jump.

I owe you an explanation, and an apology," he told her humbly, "but I'd like to take you for a drink and tell you congratulations first, if you'd come," none of the four had Rainath expected him to offer.

"Sure," she said quietly, nodding.

He led the way, single file, down the hall to their boots. Once they were out the door they walked abreast, though only he knew their destination so she had to follow the tilt of his head at the junctions.

"The lodge was built first, when we settled here," Rogar told to her, without clarifying who "we" was. "That's why it's so big. Everyone would have worked together to put it up before winter came, instead of fending for themselves."

"This side of the ridge stays cold, though, and the trees are thicker, so when spring came, they started the village where it is now. In times of war it's used as an outpost, and that's probably why folk got the habit of drinking and dicing there," he nodded ahead of them and Rainath saw that a long, low building with its back to the stone wall of the mountain had come into view. The windows gleamed dully like ice, covered from the inside to keep the light from being seen. The only beacon came from a small window in the door.

Rogar was glad to see that the man who looked out the port and unbarred the door for them wasn't Bron, he didn't feel like punching him anymore just then and he couldn't have let that level of defiance get by without recourse.

The interior was brighter than it looked from outside, Rainath thought. They were in a large, open building that was unobstructed by walls, the roof supported by massive posts that probably began their life as whole tree trunks, but now were thickly carved with scores, wagers, the names of lovers and unintelligible markings. A haphazard assortment of furniture had made its home inside, everything from chairs and ottomans to tea tables and stools carved from stumps, with plenty of crates and barrels interspersed.

Rogar didn't care for sitting in the middle of the room, but it seemed best to avoid the gaming tables at either end, so he indicated that Rainath should take a seat somewhere toward the back, and went to get them a drink.

"I thought you said there was no ale," challenged Rainath, when he set it in front of her.

"There wasn't, for you," he said gruffly, taking a gratified gulp. "There's none to be bought, this high. They all brew it themselves and put it up to be shared. You've got to be invited here."

"And you've been invited?" She took a drink of the beer. It was dark and yeasty, more flavorful than the ale in the city and if the serving size was any indication, more potent as well.

"Aye, I'm known," he answered without detail.

"They said this is where you were attacked," Rogar's hand made a dismissive gesture.

"I wasn't attacked, the man at the door was. And the place itself, I s'pose," he shrugged and took a drink, trying to suppress the image of dead brothers in blood-splotched snow.

"Congratulations, on kissing the steel," he offered, after a moment's hesitation. Rainath seemed surprised.

"Thank you," she managed to say, without asking how he knew about it. They sat in awkward silence for some time, just drinking and listening to the sounds of dice and cards.

"I'll confess that I knew my mother was likely to offer ye an apprenticeship, if I brought ye to her," he muttered uncomfortably, meeting her eyes. Rainath nodded.

"Jade... worked that out," she said softly, grimacing self consciously.

"Jade's nosy," Rogar dismissed, stereotypically fraternal. "D'ye know what my mother said when she hugged me, that first night?" He asked, chuckling. Rainath shook her head, she didn't.

"Son, please tell me you've brought her here for me, and not you," Rogar laughed, "how often does a lad hear that from his mam, eh?"

"She said we don't love each other," began Rainath, wondering if she didn't want him to challenge the point a bit. He only nodded, and finished his ale.

"Aye, she's canny," Rogar agreed, "when I was a cub I thought I was keepin' so much of my foolery from her, now I realize she probably knew about all of it." He chuckled again, recalling. Rogar refilled their cups; usually when he was there his comrades kept his cup full, but everyone was giving them a wide berth this evening.

"What I meant," he began, reclaiming his seat, "is that I apologize for misleadin' ye all the way up here, and I'm especially sorry that I got involved in... other business, with such poor timing." He raised his glass in salute to her, and added "to your future, as a weaponsmith," and took a hearty swallow. Rainath nodded and drank by reflex, the concept of herself as a smith still dizzying and foreign.

"It made me mad," she responded to his apology, without clarifying which end of it. Rogar nodded humbly. "I see why you did it, though, and I probably wouldn't have come if ye told me," she said, quieter. "I like your mam, and Jade. So, thank you."

Rogar nodded in acknowledgement just as the door opened to let in an icy gust and several people at once. Rainath didn't pay attention to the newcomers except for the fact that Rogar looked them over and stiffened slightly, hunching his shoulders. She looked over her shoulder and realized one of the people taking a seat near the fire was female, bringing their total count to two. Her skin prickled uncomfortably and she narrowed her eyes at Rogar.

The woman was taller than Rainath, but slimmer, and older than Rogar. Her dark brown hair was laced with silver, and she held herself with the same stately posture Rainath admired in Opal.

"Is that Karla?" She asked him, voice low. He didn't answer her.

"They told me about her," Rainath continued, the slightest edge of loyal menace creeping into her voice, recalling Jade's fury. Rogar surprised her by answering immediately.

"Aye, what were ye told?"

Rainath sputtered.

"That her husband died," she muttered, unwilling to say you, killed. At the sound of Rogar's voice, Karla had turned her head and met his eye, exchanging a subtle look with him that made him grow distracted and brought warmth to his chest. He broke the connection and shook his head, heaving a sigh.

"Aye?" Rogar challenged, willing her to spit out the nasty things Jade had accused.

"Jade doesn't think very highly of her," she defended weakly. Rogar snorted.

"Jade likes to forget how many ill begotten claims o' marriage I had to fight her way out of," he said dryly. Rainath faltered.

"Were there a lot?" She asked. Rogar nodded grimly. Cathon topped Rogar by several inches in every direction, and quite a few years as well.

"Cathon beat you?" She asked understandingly. Rogar snorted again, and gave her a flat look.

"I'd ha' beat her, if she'd tried to deny him. Cat is a damned good man, and she's lucky to have him."

"He told me about your da, and Jade being wild..." she murmured to her cup, taking small sips to make it last.

"Jade was a handful," he agreed, present self seeming to take on some of the weariness she'd instilled in his past. "When Cat stood and said he'd marry her, I could've wept with relief," he laughed, "left my da's belt hanging by the back door, and turned her keeping over to him, gladly." He laughed and shook his head at the memory.

"He didn't have to look after our mother, either, but Cat took the house. He set me free." The last of his words sounded with a low ring of emotion. She sat quietly, unsure where to go from there.

"How does a man get out of a woman's claim?" Rainath asked adjacently, acutely aware of Karla's presence at the end of the room. There was no deciphering the noise he made.

"Karla's claim on her first husband's life expired when she married Tyron," he told her bluntly, eyes wandering to his subject briefly. Rainath blushed, bluff called.

"She knows that you and I aren't a pair, or she'd be more respectful," Rogar muttered with a queer urgency. "She's going to make a point-"

Rainath didn't understand what he was saying. She frowned and leaned forward to hear him better, asking "Wouldn't her husband be angry if he knew-" she stopped when Rogar grimaced and kicked the empty chair at their table backward.

"My husband honors the old ways," Karla cut in easily, claiming the empty chair and making Rainath jump half out of her skin. "His tribe's clan law is unique, that way." Rainath flushed seventeen shades of red, and Rogar shared at least three of them.

"Good evening, Rogar," she said warmly, extending a hand to Rainath. "You must be Opal's new apprentice. Well met, sister." She gave the younger woman's hand a squeeze without leaving space for agreement or elaboration.

One thing about Karla's appearance was that a fresh round of ale materialized, though Rainath didn't catch the mechanism by which it was coordinated. Rainath and Rogar took twin gulps of gratitude while Karla surveyed them with aplomb.

"Having defeated my first husband in combat, Rogar is rightfully my second, according to Tyron." Karla explained, body angled to face Rainath, all but excluding Rogar as one might a child. Rogar choked on his beer.

"His own drunken stupidity defeated Radok," he growled, sputtering, "and Ty is welcome to ye, as I've made clear," Karla just chuckled, meeting Rainath's eyes with her own sparkling humorously.

"There's the right you've to me, but what hold do I have on you?" She prompted in an inquisitive tone, without looking toward Rogar. Rainath felt pinned by Karla's gaze, but from the corner of her eye she could see Rogar's jaw work stubbornly. After a quiet moment, Karla's face broke into an amused smile.

"Very well," she said, reaching out to touch Rainath's arm. "It was very nice to meet you, dear. I'm sure we'll see one another under more civil conditions," she told the girl, winking. When she turned to Rogar her voice lost its friendliness, warmth turning to heated steel.

"I'll let you explain it to her, on the way to the forgehouse," she told him levelly, eyebrow nocked at a dangerous angle. "I'll wait. You can walk me home," it wasn't a suggestion, and Rogar spared her a dirty look as he tossed back the last of his ale.

He rose and offered Rainath his arm. She accepted it, bemused, and allowed herself to be towed out into the frosty night.

"What in hell was that?" She asked, when the door had shut behind them and they were marching down the path they'd come. Rogar grunted, fastening his cloak.

"She just wanted to show off, see if it baited ye," he dismissed, shrugging. Rainath stared at him as though he'd gone mad.

"You said she'd no claim, then she called you her husband!" She reiterated for his benefit, mind reeling.

"I said the claim on her husband's life had expired," Rogar specified evenly, shoulders hunched against the cold.

"So what is this, then?" Rainath demanded of his ordered escort. Rogar took several steps without answering before he growled in frustration and kicked at a drift of snow.

"Karla made a man of me, before I'd had my rites," he muttered defiantly. A blush warmed Rainath's cheeks just for a moment against the cold.

"It's an obscure piece of clan law," he elaborated, tempering his anger. "It doesn't apply between kids that haven't made their rites, or when a man takes a girl, but when an older woman gives a lad his manhood before he's earned it, well... it puts him at a disadvantage," he finished in a mutter.

"Disadvantage?" Rainath questioned, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm. Rogar seemed in no great hurry to get back, despite the dull, aching cold that had descended on the valley since they'd been at the lodge.

"You saw," he sulked, childish. "Like a mother and a wife rolled into one, and there's no stopping her once she gets started," his voice was tinged with disgust.

"Did you... want, to have her?" Rainath asked shyly, wondering if she'd forced herself upon him. The question broke Rogar's glower, apparently recalling him to happier times.

"Oh, aye," he owned, chuckling. He drew a breath and backed the story up, for her benefit.

"First I wanted to piss m'self when I faced her to tell her her husband was dead, and I was fair miserable over my part in it. After the shock had passed, my da sent me to look after her house, make sure her wood was chopped and such. So I was just shy of seventeen w' a roof to keep mended and a fire to keep in the hearth, and a widow I'd no idea what to do with. Then my da passed, and I had two hearths to keep, two widows I was supposed to be watching over, and a tyrant of a teenage girl trying to be the death of me, besides." He paused, and his voice came lower. "I thought about goin w' my da a lot, that first year." Rainath looked stricken.

"What happened?" She asked, feeling obligated to speak.