Ottoman
Marshal of Ansbach
"As the edge of the blade is sharpened by the whetstone, may all thy mind be sharpened by your sorrow."
- The Scriptures of Elisabeth, the Book of Radegast, 19:73
Ruhigreich
1309 AC
1309 AC
Long since had the first touch of winter's quilt laid upon thatch and stone, but the bitter northern air did little to phase the hardy folk that called the frontier home. Even without cloak or coat, several gathered here and there as they stopped to share idle talk, to enjoy their morning or to avoid whatever task they had been given for just a little while longer. Such sights, simple as they were, held the gaze of the only one present who did seem bothered by the cold. Twin green orbs danced between the various figures coming and going, lingering as their dialect echoed off the smooth stonework of the keep's courtyard.
Despite being the same tongue as her own, Sieglinde still struggled with its eccentricities: the Erstenfolk loanwords, the oddly stressed syllables, even the way they rolled their Rs - the strangest thing being that they didn't, at least not with their tongues. Slender fingers, almost as pale as the snow beyond the mezzanine, reached to pull the fur-trimmed cloak tighter about her as a scowl darkened her fair features. Misting breath climbed up and away from where the auburn-haired figure sat, her hands returning to the wooden frame in her lap, where the crimson folds of her skirts proved a splash of stark, sanguine color against the morning's frigid grays, blues, and white.
It was a small thing, not fit for the grand pieces one could do on a proper, standing frame, but she was no proper embroiderer, and a smaller frame meant smaller mistakes. Needlework was something new to the young woman, having forgone the woolen gloves that so often hid her hands, preferring the dexterity of flesh on metal as she worked the thread to and fro, in and out. It had become something of a ritual over the last hour: another layer or two of color, another few minutes hiding her hands inside the warmth of her cloak, repeat ad nauseam, save for when a shiver of the hand snapped a thread, or made her miss her mark. Mother and the others had long since stopped asking why she didn't bother to just go inside, where the biting cold wouldn't vex her so, as her answer was always the same:
"It's not my fault everything here stinks of wet hound."
It wasn't her fault it was true, either.
With a final, harried draw, Sieglinde hooked the needle and dropped the frame back into her lap, eagerly pulling her hands back within the confines of the cloak, hugging herself as she hunched over, shuddering. Whatever suffering was to be endured at the hands of winter's cold breath was better than being back in her chambers, or - God forbid - the main hall. What the northern Osters had in hardiness, they certainly lacked in taste, and the lady Sieglinde winced at the thought of having to retreat inside with the dying of the day. Just as there was no hiding the smell, there was no hiding the bones of the place either.
For Ruhigreich, Dayneswatch was an impressive keep, just as Rygils had become an impressive township - now a city in all but name - but for one so recently returned from the civilized south, it was as a candle to the memory of the summer sun. Just as she played at needlework, the Ruhigmen played at civilization, aping the great castles and cities of the south, unawares or unashamed that they were practically Erstenfolk - Northmen. No matter the tapestries she hung or the bedding that she had brought with her, there was always some reminder to Sieglinde that she was not where she belonged - be it the stony hearth of her chambers, or every piece of wooden anything having to have some story carved into it.
The creak of one of the great oaken doors, its iron latch landing back with a harsh clack, broke the eldest's idle ruminations. Without looking up she knew who it was that strode through that door, even before she heard their voices. Sieglinde knew which door it was by heart now even if she had only been back for a matter of months, having spent every day she could here on the mezzanine in lieu of enduring the hospitality of their hosts. Of all the things she had expected to hear upon her return to life in the north, laughter was the very last.
The days before her departure had been so solemn, so bleak, that hearing her mother's mirth still left Sieglinde stunned, nevermind his laugh intertwined. Only with that did Sieglinde look up to see, her eyes drawn across Astrid - dressed for once without an ounce of steel on her person - and then to the man whose arms she embraced. The fine fabrics did nothing to hide the golden torc about his neck or the plaited blonde locks that draped down his back, and so Sieglinde's scowling gaze remained, even as Astrid laid her head on the Khal's shoulder.
Enough distance lay between her and the lovers to muffle their words just enough to hide them, but Sieglinde didn't need to hear them to know them. Already her hands reached for the frame, her eyes following suit, returning to her craft despite the chill that remained in her fingers. In truth she didn't lack much - another few passes, filling in the silhouette with color. It was simple, but, as she often had to remind herself, she was only a beginner. A knight upon their steed, both bedecked in plate, with lance held high - if nothing else she took some pride in the shape alone, especially the curves of the sallet. All that remained was to fill the shoulders, neck, and helmet.
"Simple enough," Came the nigh-on silent murmur, spoken to no one but herself.
Once more the needle and thread found itself drawn back and forth, much as Sieglinde's own gaze, her efforts gradually filling the shape with the sable thread she had picked for her work. No other color would do, after all. Her lips pursed at the thought, hand stilling just long enough for her mother to offer a mock gasp nearby, though it soon returned to the linen beneath, its pace redoubled. In, hook, out, through; out, hook, in, through. The meager comforts of repetition did little to still the wellspring of memory, and so between the hastened pace of her needle and the closeness of her ire, the young lady pricked her finger.
Her hissed curse did little to draw the attention of any beyond, Sieglinde wincing the pain away as she brought her left hand up and away from the frame to see. Already a crimson bead formed on the flesh of her ring finger's tip, and the woman regarded it with narrowed eyes, dabbing it away with her tongue before pressing her thumb to the wound. The coppery faintness her own life tasted of was as the scene before her - bland and boring, without depth or purpose, drunk on the wine of peace and easy coin. With her wound seen to, her eyes fell back to her lap and the knight within the frame, finished, save for his head. It was as if the last ten winters had never even happened.
Like he never even existed.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the scratch and shuffle of hobnails on flagstone drew her eye, the footsteps carried at double time. No sooner had they begun to echo across the mezzanine and the courtyard beyond did their owner burst forth from one of the hallways to Sieglinde's right. Bright-eyed, with a capsa half as big as herself strapped over one shoulder, Constanze rounded the corner and ran right past Sieglinde. There was no mistaking her half-sister, even if she was nearly ten winters her junior, between their mother's face and her father's flowing hair. The two locked eyes briefly, Sieglinde too surprised and Constanze too hurried for either to do anything more than stare before the girl again rounded a corner - this time the stairwell.
"Hi mama, papa!" She offered, hastily waving to her parents as she began to shuffle down the stairs to the courtyard. A streak of crimson - the same as Sieglinde's own dress - rushed down and away, soon hidden by the stonework of the handrail. So Sieglinde's gaze remained at the head of the stairs, unable to follow her sister, shifting instead to their mother. Already Astrid raised a hand in vain to halt the blonde blur - no doubt to warn the girl to slow down, but before Astrid could speak a shrieked yelp wiped any mark of joy from her face. The thud that followed drew Astrid around the column at the corner with a swiftness rarely seen in times of peace, her weathered features pensive.
"Constanze! Are you-"
"... fine!" Came the quick reply, shouted from below, "I'm fine! I just—...ow."
No sooner had Astrid rounded the corner did Sieglinde cast the frame to the side, rushing herself to the stairwell to look down upon the accident. The girl's words echoed up the length of the staircase from their base, where Constanze now lay on her back in the snow, grimacing. Already their mother started down the steps, but just after the first Sieglinde's hand was upon her shoulder, and Astrid halted.
"Let me, mother," The eldest offered, "All that's hurt is her pride. We'd know it if not."
The worry that was so plain in her features softened, though it remained as Astrid sighed with a nod. "... and she doesn't need her mother fretting over her every moment." A soft, reassuring smile played across Sieglinde's lips as she returned the gesture, squeezing her mother's shoulder before letting go and beginning down the staircase. The hollow knock of her shoes' square heels ringing against the stonework that surrounded her, hiding from her ears the approach of the Khal - Tauratis - behind her, joining her mother at the head of the stairwell.
His voice was the first she noticed of him since the accident below, stopping in her tracks as his baritone carried across the courtyard, "Our daughter is blessed to have a sister such as you, Sieglinde, truly." With that she pursed her lips once again, turning to behold the couple above as her emerald gaze bore into the elf.
"Yes, she is."
No sooner had her reply flew than she did herself, descending the rest of the length of the staircase, approaching her baby sister and the cause of her embarrassment - a sheet of ice and slush, packed upon the last two steps of the stairs. Judging from the distribution of her sister and the undisturbed snow between the steps and Constanze's feet, she had unintentionally leapt off, twisting midair to land - rather uncomfortably - on her backside upon the snowy plaza. Careful footfalls carried the eldest Hölweck across the treacherous threshold and down to the girl who even now groaned with strained breath.
Careful hands folded the ends of her cloak over one another as Sieglinde moved to kneel beside Cosntanze, shielding herself from the worst of the snow's cold beneath, eying the scene with mild disappointment. "You already know what mother is going to say." The girl below huffed, her own scowl now present, though it wasn't for Sieglinde's words, or even Astrid's, that she now rolled her eyes - no, Sieglinde knew that look.
She saw it often in her own mirrored glass.
"No running on the stairs." The supine half-elf offered, repeating the mantra that had been spoken so often that the words had nearly lost their meaning, "Or when it snows–ah." Another scrunch of the girl's features accompanied her twisting her hips and stretching her legs, her elder sister glancing down her length, eyes darting between this leg and that as Constanze tested her joints and limbs. No breaks at least, that or the girl was far better at hiding pain than Sieglinde was at her age.
"Did you hit your head?" Sieglinde reached for the girl, beckoning for her to sit up - something Constanze did only reluctantly as she nodded in reply. Carefully the elder's fingers ran through the girl's hair, checking over Constanze, only continuing once she was sure the other was fine, "And only on the stairs and when it snows? Mother's going soft for you." Auburn brows curved in curiosity as Sieglinde rocked back onto her knees, hands folded neatly in her lap as a faint smile crept upon her lips, "I wasn't allowed to run at all when I was little."
"At all?" Sieglinde confirmed Constanze's question with an affirming nod, allowing the smile she wore to grow despite herself. The girl hooked a hand on the linen strap of the capsa, still slung over her shoulder - no doubt aiding in her tumble earlier - regarding her sister with a piteous look, "... well, that sounds awful."
Sieglinde agreed, "It was."
"So what did you do?"
"Hm?"
"For fun," Constanze clarified, "What did you do?"
The immediate question took the elder by surprise, not expecting such forthright curiosity about her past. The red-haired sister remained silent for but a moment, blinking as she mulled over the first time someone had asked of her youth in what felt like an age, "Oh... other things - I played make believe." Distant daydreams of marriage and motherhood echoed behind emerald eyes, soon bright with a mischievous addendum, "Or I just ran when mother and f–"
There the light dimmed, her voice resuming, "... when mother wasn't watching."
Though Sieglinde had caught herself before slipping, such words were not lost on the observant girl before her. Constanze too had grown to wear a smile as the eldest shared with her memories of days before her own time - the sort of knowledge that made Sieglinde less of a stranger and more of a sister. Despite the care of her elder's tongue, the girl was no fool, reaching across to wrap her arms about Sieglinde, barely able to reach her hands for the thickness of the cloak.
With the chill of silver against her skin, Constanze laid her head in the crook of Sieglinde's shoulder, the elder's earring pressed against the bare flesh of her neck by the girl's unbidden affection. There Constanze remained for some time, long enough for Sieglinde to overcome her surprise and raise one hand to return the gesture, patting the girl softly on the back before she pulled away. Sieglinde still wore the same bewildered expression that had leapt upon her as swiftly as her sister, to which the girl said nothing, offering only a small, if amicable, smile.
The eldest's eyes drooped, down and away from her sister's gaze, returning to her own lap and then to the wooden capsa at Constanze's side. Sieglinde's voice was quick, a gentle tilt of her head towards the container before them, decisive in breaking the silence, "What are you so excited to be studying, hm?" Of all the things one expected to see a child running about with, one of the last would be scrolls of any kind - much less properly transported - and so she had to wonder just what it was Constanze carried.
She would not wonder long, the girl's humble smile split instantly into a toothy grin. "Horses!" She declared, any worry of injury or shame from before now completely absent, "Our horses, at least. Lady Nergui insists I know their blood," The girl glanced up the staircase, back to where her parents still stood, "... and mama says that reading is the most important thing we can do, so." The girl beamed, excited to apply herself to her passion, and Sieglinde couldn't help the smile that tugged at her own cheeks.
"The Dhal?" She asked, to which Constanze nodded. "Well," Any opinion she had of 'lady' Nergui aside, it did make sense for a Dhallic to train anyone in the equestrian arts, so long as they could back their lessons with more than their word. "I don't suppose she's taught you how to ride as a lady yet?" The pause that lingered just before the girl shook her head spoke volumes, "Would you like me to–"
"Yes!"
Sieglinde barely had time to finish her sentence, much less her own thoughts, before Constanze made her reply. With a small grin herself, she continued, "Tomorrow then, we'll take the palfreys out along the outer fields, just us." It would be a good excuse to get out of the keep, and something different for a change. Despite being little more than a pleasant distraction for Sieglinde, one would have thought that she had offered young Constanze the throne of Litthauf. Already a litany of questions began to pour from the girl's mouth, one tripping over the other before Sieglinde had to finally shush her, a hand reaching out to grasp Constanze's.
"... nothing that can't wait until tomorrow, I'll fetch you in the morning. Now," Sieglinde withdrew her hand to thump her fingers on the wooden lid of the capsa, "You had best get on, before the 'lady' has you for stew." The girl's grin, only barely suppressed by Sieglinde's efforts to quiet her down, returned twofold as the girl tensed to spring to her feet and continue on her way, but just before hauling herself up she stopped, instead looking back to Sieglinde.
"I wish we lived somewhere it didn't snow, but," Constanze's eyes met her own, "I'm glad I slipped today, Sigi."
Sigi. She was Sieglinde to most, Linde to her mother, family and friends - but never Sigi, not to any but one, though she supposed that made two now. "Me too." With that the girl flashed another wide smile and set off at pace again, her footfalls summoning the echoing voice of their mother from above:
"No running!"
Sieglinde scoffed to herself where she still knelt at the feet of the stairs, a small shake of her head all she offered on her mother's retraction - or Constanze's fib. What concern Astrid held in her voice faded away soon to the same sort of murmurings as before, carried down the steps by the flatness of the stone and the stillness of the air, and with such dulcet notes did Sieglinde's smile wane, twisting into a sneer. Such thought was halted briefly by voices across the way, and though Sieglinde knew not what was said, there was no mistaking the scene.
The lithe frame clad in shades of lavender and black, framed by milk-white skin and silvered hair - the lady Rohmdayne, mistress of this keep and their most generous benefactor - yet again disappointed with the news that one of her men had brought. More and more of late her frustrations had become public spectacle and already whispers abounded of an ill turn in her demeanor, a mistrust that bordered on paranoia, shared carelessly by the folk of Dayneswatch in their comings and goings.
As Tauratis's brassy laugh echoed from above, green eyes remained locked on the incensed baroness.
"Me too."
Neuveria
1310 AC
1310 AC
Already the rays of the late-autumn sun poured into the depths of the carriage, flooding the sanctuary of leather and wood with the orange-red hues of the dying of the day. Were it not for the shift in the trees beyond, their boughs awash with the fiery tones of fall, one would hardly know that summer was coming to a close, as the inside of the carriage was as an oven. Without a single portal open to the outside world, the air within proved stuffy and stale, but even despite such mild complaints, Sieglinde had to admit - it certainly beat the cold.
In truth, she relished their southerly direction, and despite the black business back in Litthauf, it was a welcome change from the misery of the ice and snow of far away Ruhigreich. The same embroidery frame remained in her hands, though now they worked freely at pace. Unbound by the bite of the cold or the frustrations of their mistress, her fingers deftly worked their needle's way up the stem of a flower - one of several in a floral arrangement. Bright eyes looked from one bloom to another, and there they lingered, enjoying the splashes of color they provided as she paused.
Already her fingers stirred from their idleness, resuming their work before a violent sneeze froze them in their tracks. The eldest Hölweck glanced up from her hobby, looking left across the carriage to the other occupant. There on the bench opposite sat Constanze, the only other member of their family not entrusted with the defense of their column, her legs folded up and held against her chest as she leaned against the far window. Already she sniffled in response to the latest sneeze in an unyielding onslaught, as day after day the girl suffered from exposure to all manner of plant and animal she had never yet seen, isolated as she had been in the north.
"Bless you," The elder spoke, though the languid, nasal sigh that preceded such a blessing spoke the truth of her mood, and Constanze simply nodded in reply. No sooner had Sieglinde's gaze returned to her work that the girl sniffled again, a long and unseemly noise that prompted her elder to continue, "Do you not wipe your nose? Were you never taught how, hm?" Two eyes, the same shade as her own, stared back at her blankly, blinking twice before Constanze began to raise her arm.
Sieglinde's words were swift as bolts, and were it not for the finery of her dress and the jewels in her hair, one would've thought her Astrid for the stern fury that laced her voice, "God's blood - with something that is not your sleeve!" The same blank look in the same verdant gaze returned, arm held aloft for a moment in confusion as the girl silently worked through her limited options. The gowns that she wore had no pockets, no sort of storage for anything to use in such a manner. Such deliberation was cut short with the silken impact of a kerchief upon her face, the youngest flinching in surprise. Only once she opened her eyes, gingerly picking up the handkerchief, did she finally speak.
"... thank you, Sigi."
"You're welcome. Use it."
Waiting to see that the girl in fact did know how to use the kerchief, Sieglinde only bothered to return to her work once she had seen for herself and, satisfied, turned her gaze down once again. Perhaps she was being unfair to her little sister, as the last few months had been eventful to say the very least. To add her body's discontent with the local flora on top of it - a thing that she truly couldn't help - it would prove a tall order for anyone to handle, much less a child.
But Sieglinde had received no such pity - why should Constanze?
"Is Ansbach a big city?" Came the youngest's voice, her gaze cast beyond the confines of the carriage and to the countryside that lay outside - the rolling hills and fields that framed the Averian Way of central Neuveria, hemmed in by brooding, old-growth forests. The question came just as Sieglinde had slipped the needle back into the linen, giving her a moment's pause as she processed the unexpected inquiry.
"... smaller than Litthauf at least, but everywhere is." Her pace began to resume in earnest, not bothering to look to Constanze as she spoke, "I don't know, I've never been there." She had never been to Transmyria at all, in fact - it was just as much of a backwater as Ruhigreich, but at least Transmyria lacked the brutal cold that swept down from the north of the world. No doubt they would have their own eccentricities and their own stink, but at least the entire affair would be far more palatable.
"Will we live in the castle?"
Once more Sieglinde did not bother to look up from her work, restarting once again in the wake of her sister's voice, "I don't know."
"I just thought you–"
"Will you stop, you simple bitch?"
Only then did the elder deign to look at the youngest, the daggers cast by her gaze causing the girl to recoil, just as much as the venom that had sprung from her tongue. There Constanze remained, wide-eyed and silent, working up the courage to finally ask, "... stop what?"
"Thinking! By all the Gods, if you interrupt me again everyone will know what became of that maidservant, you savage."
The silence within the confines of the carriage was supreme, punctuated only by the rhythm of the wheels they rode on and the labored breath of Sieglinde's ire. No sound emerged from the far end of the carriage, save the creak of the leather beneath Constanze as she pulled her legs tighter against her frame, her features stricken with something between pain and fear, soon hidden behind her knees. Like a challenged beast, Sieglinde's attention remained fixed on the girl until she was sure that Constanze heeded her threat, only then resuming her work.
So the ride continued, and Sieglinde reveled in the silence. Unperturbed and uninterrupted, she weaved her way up the stem and around the crook in its length, just before the blooming petals at its head. Only when she finally finished with the length of green thread did she bother to speak, her eyes remaining on her work as she did. "I forgive you, Constanze. It is not your fault, but your father's." There Sieglinde's tongue stilled for but a moment, hesitant, before repeating what was said to her so many years ago.
"Mark well his fate, lest you share it."