Dreams and sorting

Tirian lay outside his tent, looking up at the stars. It was a warm night, but he did not lay awake because of the heat. He had slept quite soundly, actually, for the first several hours of the night, better than it seemed he had in weeks. This was not unusual, he knew, living as he did, in the wilderness, with so many under his care. He did not lack trust for his guards and soldiers, but at times felt personally the burdens of the people whose lives were entrusted to him. It was a life not easy, he knew, and made more difficult when the Lord of the House undertook to aide in situations unknown and potentially dangerous.
The Lord of Broken Rampart was awake, and newly laid down again after a long bath in the river, having woken in a full sweat, a nightmare so real that he had nearly sounded an alarm. Attention to his surroundings quickly brought peace to his mind that it had been a dream, no matter how real it seemed at that moment. The most immediate factor lending to the truth of this assertion was the fact that his surroundings declared that he was in a tent, and obviously out of doors. The subject of his dream was a mile away, safely and comfortably in a downy bed, enclosed most definitely within walls more secure than the hide of beasts, sewn together skillfully by women born and raised on the road and on the run. Yuika, Lady of the House of Dying Crane, was certainly sleeping peacefully despite the terror that had just woken him. She had been there, indeed in her bed, but she was in the throes of her withdrawal, clutching at her stomach and making petulant demands of anyone who would listen. Tirian would step out of the room for a brief respite and a breath of air, and Nanami was back at her side . . . except that it was Itsuki. She looked at her liegelady with an air of hunger and desire, and waved vigorously and purposefully toward the door. Men, foreign men, were at Yuika, and Itsuki looked on, laughing *encouragements* at her Lady, that she would be well and safe, that nothing was to be feared. The bed was surrounded, so that Yuika disappeared behind a curtain of attackers. Tirian ran to the commotion, entered as a sword was drawn . . . He had woken with a start.
Now he lay considering the House of Dying Crane. The Lady was safe, surely. His men surrounded the grounds, and at the very least a runner would make the approach of any enemy of significance readily known. But his heart was uneasy. He had heard of dreams with meaning in the past, from his forefathers, but they had not been seen in a couple of generations. His father certainly never confessed to any; in fact, he had been completely dismissive of the notion, considering them children's tales to play to their imagination. Tirian had no substantive work from which to derive his opinion. Now, though, it became a matter of great consideration. The danger that Yuika likely faced was certainly for real, and should not be ignored, whether he dream it or not. That Itsuki still held office in her House, and was most certainly an enemy, could not be overlooked or even held lightly. To do so would be to present Yuika to danger greater than that which he had endeavored to help her be released from. Tirian shook his head. She had certainly not wished the withdrawal from her addiction, which was to be expected. And she had very obviously been used to having her way without question, which had made the task more difficult. Early on, especially, Itsuki had tried to ply her way into her mistress's heart, using her expression of care for her Ladyship to play against the more painful remonstrations of truly loyal and caring servants. Nanami had proven to be more forceful than Tirian had hoped for, though she must be strained in holding off the extremely clever Itsuki with half her wits inaccessible to her use for fear of revelation. Tirian laughed silently. There is a justice, though, for a servant with two mistresses. Someday, Nanami, Tirian thought wantonly, you will have to choose whom you serve.
Yuika herself was quite petulant, and sometimes rude, in her demands, though this had not been as demonstrative as the addiction had loosed its hold on her. Her requests, her commands, were still pert, lacking finer distinction and any true depth of feeling for her servants, still focused, Tirian thought for sure, on herself and her own sufferings. He thought that this was to be expected, and not wholly without cause, as she still was burdened by a past too great for her conscience and wanted propriety. Tirian felt his heart well up for the young maiden, so crushed by a cruelty of life not meant for any, let alone one so young. Yes, she was immature, she had much to learn, but . . . she had fine qualities, the flower of which could be seen from time to time, peeking out from under the veil of opium and her own pain and stubbornness. She was beautiful, to be sure, and that beauty would grow within her, he was certain, if it were given time and the proper watering. Tirian once again examined himself, especially in regards to the Lady of Dying Crane. Respect would not be an issue, though the one most forwarded by his own captains, to be sure. Nay, he thought, she would bloom in time. But as he searched his own feelings, he recognized the warmth that he bore for her as that borne more toward a sister, a sister he never had. He sighed. He felt certainty within him that the Lady Yuika needed him, and he desired to give continuance to his assistance, despite the sometimes wearing days, and the necessity to constantly be on call. He had merely chosen his lot, and for now, that meant attention to the Lady of Dying Crane, a service likely to be repaid with nothing.
He smiled gently. No, not with nothing, Tirian thought. Only a fool considers it nothing...

Nanami

Tirian sat at the campfire, dinner settled, children playing in the woods as mothers cleaned up and men set store for wood, and hung the extra pheasants from the higher branches. The guards change shifts, giving rest to the outrunners and those standing closer to the encampment. The Lord of Broken Rampart, as was his wont on a peaceful evening, sat staring into the fading light around him, playing on a bamboo flute that was at least as old as he, he was quite certain. The music was lighthearted, with just a hint of melancholy at times, in general, but this evening, he played a gentle air that caused the kids to cease their games and engage in playful dancing. This was a favorite part of many within the encampment, making the evening tasks pass swiftly away, though Tirian was not often aware of the effect that he had on them. Tonight, he smiled with a twinkle in his eyes, an occurrence not all too common, as he played a lively tune for the children occupying themselves in the entertainment.

As the sun fell, the music sank as well into a gentle, ancient lullaby that his mother said was as old as the Kingdoms. The children were headed to the river to bathe, under the watchful guidance of their mothers, and the fire was dying. Tirian continued to play, but his mind was drawn into his thoughts. His day, like so many these past couple of weeks, was done. Dying Crane lay in the distance, across the fields and woods, and in his mind. Yuika was at her repose, rested in the watchful care of Nanami, her faithful servant. The flute is abandoned to its owner's pouch as introspection and careful thought commandeer his silence. He had given some thought to the young maid before, but could not reconcile her position, her purpose, her disclosure to the scene in which he was entwined. Of her kindness to Yuika, he had no doubt. But as to her purpose, he had never been certain. Why did she care so for Yuika and her health? She said that she acted on the instructions of distant allegiance, and Tirian was certain that she was to be trusted, at least so far as she had been committed to the plan. And he did trust her. He had allowed . . . nay, ordered . . . that her communications in and out of Dying Crane find their destination without harassment. Had he acted wisely, though? She was certainly capable of thinking for herself, though loyalty, he thought, was one of her greatest qualities. It would be folly, though, to think her a simpleton, for she was evidently of strong mind . . . and will. She freely admitted to having a separate liege.

Tirian sat back a bit further and thought towards the end of this train . . . Seira . . . that was her name. Tirian rolled it around in his mind. And Pale Twilight. He stared at the stars, trying to picture a Lady, perched in her house and meddling in the affairs of others. He chuckled to himself silently in the night. How perfect a fit that she would be, he mused, shaking his head. Who was this woman? And what person set their attentions foremost to the interests of other Houses? Did she know what dangerous game she played? He thought not. He decided not to judge, or at least to attempt the exercise, but he confessed to the night sky that his initial inclination was to dislike, though her desire to assist appeared to be commendable. He would not trivialize such merit. Of the House of Pale Twilight, Tirian could immediately recall nothing. But that it had been visited by a forefather was a distinct possibility that would require greater reflection, and leafing through the limited records that life in the wilderness had allowed. Whatever she was, Tirian admitted that he would like to meet this Lady, and judge for himself the level of her impetuosity.

It would be folly to presume to spread himself and his people thinner, but he could not help entertaining the idea of sending someone in search of Pale Twilight. He was certain it could be found with little difficulty, but the distance would be prohibitive. And why there, and not to deal more directly with the situation at Fallen Sakura. Tirian shook off the thought. No, there is a difference. One deals directly where we are at, the other is currently vengeance. And righteousness in justice finds its way best in course of time. Tirian stood up from the fire, intending to take a guard duty, for sleep would not find him easily this night, as he put together plans to inquire a little further of Nanami regarding her true Lady, and he continued to piece in his mind the possibility of connecting, by some manner, with the Lady of Pale Twilight.

Strangers . . .

Tirian sat on the side of a grassy mound, arms folded on his knees, as he looked out over the lake in front of him. Though he couldn't see clear detail across the lake, he knew that there was a little teahouse, a serene setting set up for its situation and comfort. The evening was pleasant, the colors in the sky worth the time for examination, and the land was quiet, peaceful, as though setting a space aside for one traveler's thoughts and reflections.
Tirian had plenty to think about. His gaze set on the far side of the lake, his thoughts were soon to follow. Yuika had looked well this day, and though she still seemed to suffer lingering effects of the addiction, Tirian suspected that most of that was due to her mind believing a need; the symptoms were certainly greatly lessened. Her natural beauty was beginning to be allowed to show, and perhaps could be hoped to shine. She had been, even under the influence of the opium, very pretty. He suspected that, restored to health, the Lady of Dying Crane would likely be the envy of all she communed with. She had even remained poised during the course of their conversation, and she seemed to be more at ease with him. He still did not trust to leave her to herself, for fear that those surrounding her might still have a foothold. Tirian chuckled at the thought. As strong-willed as Yuika seemed, she could so very easily swayed if the right trigger were presented her. No, he thought, she is not quite free. What he had learned that evening about the Lady of Dying Crane was more than he had anticipated, and he felt the burden in his heart increase for the young woman who had lost so much of her youth. Did she even know who she was? She apparently had some memory of it, and must feel the result, even if it was without explanation in her own mind. She had shared of Hishinuma, an instructor for whom she showed a great deal of affection in her very young years, one who had obviously treated her well, and inspired great feeling in her. Tirian doubted very much that the instructor shared the feelings, but still the girl would have been greatly effected by the acquaintance. And then, enter Lord Shigeru, ~Tirian spat as he thought in revulsion of so twisted a Noble~ and Yuika's fragile world would have crashed around her, with no foundation to which she could cling. He shook his head again, picking at the grass, thinking that Itsuki, clever, shrewd and intelligent, could have been a great shelter to her young charge. No, he thought, there is motive there. We will find out what.
His thoughts became more introspective, as his contemplations reminded him not only of what she had shared, but what he too had revealed of his own situation. He shook his head. He had told the Lady Yuika of his past, or at least a portion of it. He shared just a little of the haunting memories and ghosts that chased him. The story of his ancestor being carried out of a crumbling palace, men in black robes and scarves, cruel blades, terror, blood and running. He had revealed the real name of his house, something that he had determined never to do with anyone outside the House. Silver Crescent risked no longer being a secret. HE had risked that. For what? Did he hope to win her trust by sharing this information? Her help? Her hand? He shook his head furiously. The story itself, the recollection of what had been was not so secret as that it happened, and that the Lord of Silver Crescent still lived. He bit his lip a little thinking of his faceless enemies, of what consternation it would be to discover that the last of the line of the closest House to an Empire was still breathing. Would they still remember, this many generations away? Of course they will. Do not I? He looked behind him, back toward the encampment. His fear was not for himself, but for those who followed him, loved him, trusted him.What was I thinking? I do not know if she is to be trusted. SHE may not even know. If she has heard of Silver Crescent, what will she do with the information? Rubbing his neck at the discomfort of the thoughts, he inevitably found himself sitting near a fire, quite a number of years earlier . . .
A boy in his later teens sat staring at the man across the fire, a man with strikingly similar features to the boy's own, though hardened by a number of years, and especially haggard this night. The young man narrowed his eyes at his father, trying to form the question that he had wanted to ask since his father and three companions had gotten back to the camp a half hour before, half dragging a man that looked close to death. His story had been that the man, obviously a noble, was being robbed and beaten, likely to have been killed but for the arrival of four men, armed with swords and bows, quickly taking the fight, though outnumbered 2-1. Now Tirian's father, freshly treated for the wounds on his arm and abdomen, prepared to meet his son's questions, knowing that the time would come for them. "Father," began the younger, soft-featured but proud, "for what reason did you do that? I thought that you had said that we were not to interract with other Houses, that we were to let them manage their own affairs, even if that meant sorrow for them in the short term. Did you not say that these were the mistakes of our forefathers, of looking outside of our own walls, when we carried enough trouble of our own?" "My son," the father began. "You misunderstand . . ." but Tirian was not finished and in growing obstinence overspoke his father. "You said that we were to apart from the ways of the nobles, to learn and to seek, never to interfere. This was for our protection as well as theirs." "Son," the father replied, a bit more sternly, "I really do believe that your feelings are elsewh . . ." Tears burning the face of the youngster now, he raged, "And you left your mission! Everything that our lives are supposed to be geared toward! You let him get away! The answers that could have been had! The endless searching finding an avenue at last! And for what? " He pointed at a nearby tent, hastily erected for the ragged nobleman. "A man who would just as quickly have you chased from his land, and probably will not survive the night!" "ENOUGH!" His father's voice was firm, loud enough to be heard. Tirian knew he had overstepped, and glared at his father. Tears burned his cheeks, but he remained silent, tightening his jaw in fury. Standing up, he looked at his son sternly, and then softened his expression. "My son, the greatest sin of the House of Silver Crescent was pride and arrogance. And I fear that you have yet to learn that lesson." Holding himself upright, though his face was pale, Darian, Lord of Broken Rampart, bowed his head to his son and walked off to his tent one more time, an image that would haunt the son in memory forever . . .
Tirian closed his eyes against the memory, wishing it away, and letting it sear into his soul, the final lesson his father would convey. "Father," he whispered to the cooling night air, "I think I understand . . ." Giving in to the recollection, Tirian, Lord of Broken Rampart, bowed his head and wept.

Striving

Tirian dismounted his horse as the sun sank low in the sky, activity bustling through the camp. Dinner was being cooked throughout, and children gamboled about the clearing. Tirian allowed his horse to be taken away and scanned the scene before. A smile came to his face. *Yes, they are happy. They deserve better, but they are happy despite their circumstance.* He stretched, loosening tired muscles, wishing that such an easy exercise would relax the mind, as well.

Most of the men were out, as he had known they would be, patrolling in wide arcs, not just around the small group of people living in the wild, but patrolling the lands surrounding Dying Crane. His smile disappeared into thought, and he rubbed his chin considering the circumstances of the Lady Yuika. She looked well. The time of severe physical symptoms of pain and wretching, sweats and chills, from the opium addiction had passed, for the most part, although lingering craving would remain for a little longer. She now was showing personality that was not clouded, although she still bore a haunted look. Tirian's face darkened. *THAT is to be expected, I suppose.* He had been sure to present himself daily to Yuika, and to engage her in conversation on every occasion, if only to help her build trust in the ones that would help her. As often as it could be afforded, he gave Nanami time away, who had proven to be more faithful than he had dared hope. Her constant vigilance over her Lady made Tirian wonder about the separate allegiance to which she had alluded. She had taken Tirian's advice, and employed one other servant for the sake of guarding her bedside, and those times were spent in silence. The secret of Yuika's recovery would remain between Tirian and Nanami . . . for the most part. Her service had allowed Tirian to concentrate more of his efforts on blocking Itsuki, the duplicitous diplomat, whose game he had yet to discover.

It was to her that his attention was now turned, as his thoughts were broken by a quick, quiet step that most would have failed to hear. "What news, Hardir?"

"My Lord," he said, with a touch of strain in his voice, "we have done as you asked, and monitored all activity going out of the House of Dying Crane." Tirian turned to face him, and the other's face slackened. "My Lord, you are exhausted. Why do you not rest?" Tirian simply stared at him, and Hardir sighed. "I believe that you are right. Someone within the House is networking outside, and it is not her Ladyship. We cannot say who it is, though the actions are done discreetly."
Tirian nodded. "And you have accounted for our friend?" Hardir nodded. "Then it is as I suspected." Raising a hand, he shook his head. "Nay, Hardir. I know your argument. I assure you that I know the culprit."
Hardir hardened his face and said, "My Lord, you ask much of your men, and they do it willingly and without question. You know that they would follow you anywhere, and indeed have. But I still do not see why you help."
Tirian slumped his shoulders. "Hardir, my friend. You know why we help. Someone must, and we can." Looking into Hardir's eyes, he continues, "Let me confide in you, what I am able. The Lady Yuika is not in control of her own House, and it is not by her choice. This is not a decision that she has abdicated, nor in any way has she shown herself incompetent of rule. She has been trapped in a cage, and though she bears her own measure of responsbility, she did not lock her own door." Studying Hardir's face, and seeing comprehension and compassion, he continued. "Her advisor has a much different course set for the Lady than that which will benefit the Lady or the House. Of this, I am certain. My most recent encounter with her assures me that not only are your findings linked to her, but that it is she who has been using the Lady Yuika's opium as a leash. As clever as she is with her tongue in manipulating her Lady and the others at House Council, she reveals much with her face and manners, and more with the cunning speech that she contrives to twist that which I already know. She would have me believe myself deluded and lovesick. She has suggested to Nanami that my motives are to be brought into question, suggesting that I am trying to gain a hold over a House Ruler." Hardir scowled. "It is quite a reasonable assertion, Hardir, given that they know me not, the Lord of a House that no one knows. Unfortunately for her, she made the accusation to one who sees her Lady growing more well by the day, as well as a servant who has no trust for Itsuki anyway. Further, there has been no occasion for her to accuse, and she continues to try to make Yuika's improprieties a measure of incompetence before me, and in the presence of others. She says in the hearing of all that she would be more capable of 'tending to her Lady's maladies than some simple servant and a vagrant lord.' She's quite good. It has been hard work and quick words to keep her at bay, and I believe I finally have her on the defensive." He paused and sighed. "More than this regarding Yuika I cannot tell, except to say that she had reason to willingly accept such a hiding place, and that is the reason that we guard her lands."
Hardir interrupted, "But what of her own guards, m'Lord?"
Tirian shook his head. "They are unaware of these inner workings, and how many of them are loyal yet to Itsuki is hard to say. But you see the concern, do you not, my friend?" The man nodded reluctantly.
"It is very like Silver . . ."
Tirian raised a hand, shaking his head. After a pause, he said, "I will discover her reasons, and I do believe I am close. Your work in this has been invaluable. We may have to intercept her communications at some point, but I would like to trap Itsuki first. She betrayed the location of the opium to me, and I would like you to discover it. Go lightly, go armed." He gave Hardir the location and then fell silent, turning toward the sunset again.

"My Lord?" Tirian looked back at him. "What of the diplomat's spies? Shall we let them back in?"

Thinking a moment, he answered, "Let them pass. But I must be made aware immediately upon their passing our perimeter, even if it means your coming to the House yourself." Hardir nodded and made to go away. "Hardir," Tirian called. "Instruct the outrunners of their orders, and then you must gain rest." Hardir flashed a look of gratitude and compassion, and then walked away at a steady pace.

The Decision

The second meeting with the Lady of Dying Crane had been very enlightening. That there was something that was amiss was evident upon Tirian's first visit. But the truth . . . that was perhaps more of a surprise than Tirian had supposed possible. He was not so naive as to believe that such chicanery was not to be found in the Houses, but to come face to face with it still stirred his insides uncomfortably.

He had attended the Lady, only to find that whatever ailed her severely limited her. She seemed to be failing, and on his approach, she nearly went into shock. Tirian had done what he could, but it was a poor remedy, he was afraid. After getting her settled into her bed, her maidservant had been surprisingly forthcoming regarding the condition of her Lady. It was shortly after receiving said information that he begged his leave, promising to return with all due diligence. Expressing his deepest regrets for missing the evening meal, he hastened to the stables to acquire his horse.

Darkness was deep and the moon was starting to rise when Tirian had an encounter of a much different nature. Several men stood around him in a secluded clearing, hoods thrown back, revealing men who were weathered and travelled, but bore the mark of loyalty in their eyes. They were now questioning their leader in a way not often seen in the courts of the current Houses. "My Lord," said one particularly hardened man. "This is folly of which you speak. We have a task before us now." They had been discussing Tirian's pronouncement upon his return to camp.

"We will bivouacking in the Ninth Kingdom for a time." Tirian spoke resolutely, though his heart trembled at his own decision.
"The Ninth Kingdom, m'Lord? I thought that the dark rider travelled north. Do we not follow him?"
"For the time being, the dark rider will have to be considered lost. I followed him to the borders of the Ninth, and he took to the rocky hills on the wings of the wind. He will not escape forever. But for now, there are more pressing matters at hand." He had told his faithful friends very little of the actual plight of Dying Crane, but had informed them all was not well, and that at this time, there was reason to stay.
His friends were going to be heard, though. "Are you meddling, my Lord, in House affairs?"
Tirian became frustrated at the comment, saying, "We all are always meddling in House affairs. It is the nature of this foul world. I just choose to meddle here, if meddling it in fact be."
"But, my Lord . . . what of Silver Crescent?"
Tirian was now angry. "What of it? It has waited four generations; a little longer will do no harm!" His friends stood sullen and bemused. Tirian continued, more slowly. "Besides, my friends . . . if we do not do this, then we have failed to learn from the mistakes of our fathers." He looked to the starlit, moonstruck sky, and sighed, his face revealing a past and lingering sorrow. "Is this not the way I was taught? The lessons learned by my father, and his father before him? Nay, Hardir," he said, stopping his friend from argument. "I have made my decision. We will camp in the Ninth, here in this land. No one will enter except with the consent of the Lady of Dying Crane."

Plans and arrangements set, Tirian readied himself for the morning, when he would return to attend to the Lady that he had set a scare into.

The Rider . . .

The advantage, perhaps, was the rider did not know that he was being followed. However, he had a long lead, and Tirian would be hard-pressed to overtake him. His path was fresh, and Tirian made good ground, but at some point his quarry had obviously sped up, as if hastening to some unknown urgent mission. Hard Tirian followed, coming within sight of the rider on a couple of occasions, but the hunted rode without tiring, and seemingly through the night. Several hours bivouaced in a cave resulted in a lengthened lead for the mysterious rider.

Tirian looked out across the prairie to see the rider slipping over the horizon. Hope was not gone to catch him, especially with line of sight, but the chances became slim. He drove the borrowed steed hard, pursuing relentlessly while his mind wandered to the past that drove him here. He remembered his father, in the hidden settlement in the northern woods of the Third Kingdom, talking to him as they walked around the perimeter of the encampment, attempting to keep the women and children safe. "Son," he had said, "you must never stop searching for those that brought ruin on our House. You have the tools, you know what I know, and that which my father before me passed on to me. We have been close, my son, to unraveling the mystery of the fall."
"Father, who are they? Who are responsible?"
His father shook his head wearily. "It is unknown, my son. What we know is that we were betrayed from within our own walls. The betrayer was never known, nor whether he was slain or escaped with those to whom he offered aid. The assault came in the middle of the night, and our Father never stood a chance. It was only by the faithfulness of the Master-at-Arms that my grandfather, still but a young child, was rescued into the wild, and so our House was kept from perishing."
"Why do we not go back, Father?"
He shook his head again. "We know too little, my son. And Arcane Law gives authority to the victor where the bloodline of a House is destroyed."
"But father, the bloodline is not destroyed. We can go to the Council and make our claim, can we not?"
"To what end, my son? We do not know who it was who robbed our title to begin. Our lives, without knowledge and preparation, would be forfeit. This is why we travel and live under the House title of 'Broken Rampart. No one must know . . ."

He continued the chase, but his quarry had now taken to the trees, and time was lost looking for the trail once again. Another day of hard riding, pausing occasionally to care for the tiring steed, left Tirian further behind the one he chased than at the beginning of the day.

Hunting

He stood looking out over the pristine mountain lake. The moon was just rising and the stars were bright. The forest was relatively quiet, but for the sound of an owl hunting its prey in a nearby meadow. Tirian closed his eyes and allowed the scene to burn into his mind. How he loved the night, the feel of the air upon his face, the sensation of life all around him. He found that it calmed his soul, even as the day hardened his life.

It would be easy to complain, easy to be bitter, he knew. Life had not treated him fairly. But to what had he to honestly compare this hardship? This was all he had ever known. He lived as his father had taught him, gone now these twelve years. Would he, Tirian, also face an early demise because of the course of his life? He pushed the thought aside. The moon was shining, and glittering on the surface of the mirror that had been delved in this secluded valley on the edge of the Ninth Kingdom.

Yes, this would be a good place to settle in for a while. He opened his eyes, scanning the landscape that swept below him, watching the road that he had traveled from the Seventh Kingdom. Perhaps he could find some news . . . it had been years since he had set foot in the Ninth; his father had been with him then. He had told him something of the Houses in the Ninth, but his knowledge was limited, as he, like Tirian, had spent the better part of his life in the wild. It was a hope, nonetheless . . . Yes, perhaps there would be news . . .

Suddenly alert, watching the motion on the road, he found what he feared and what he hoped. He called to his horse and was amount and down the hill in a moment, riding north like the wind, in pursuit of the figure on the highway . . .