Some weeks ago, Vertholt was host to a fleet-footed courier. The document he carried was of no importance to the kingdom at large, but bore the seal belonging to one of the high noble houses and was addressed to the previous heir. The man had been paid handsomely to ensure the letter's delivery for reasons of the sender's own and so it was that the letter found its way into the hands of Malavai Eventine.

---

Dear Brother,
I hope you are doing well. It has been too long since we've seen one another. I am due for a trip to Vertholt in a matter of weeks for business on behalf of Southpeak and the Orders. Ellimere is still too frail for the journey after a recent bout with fever, but if it is to your liking, perhaps we could meet when I arrive in the city. Please send word either way. It would do well for me to hear that you are safe.

With love,
Gwyneth

Malavai was in his quarters when the inn's wife knocked on his door. For a moment he was gazing out of the window near his bedside, watching the frail snowflakes descend from the heavens. It was a white marvel outside: it had snowed heavier earlier throughout the night and day -- the snowfall had already jumped over the peak and was headed for the conclusion. While he thought it was beautiful, the Eventine lad despised travel during snow. It was a hassle, most could safely agree with that.

Motioning toward the door, Malavai would greet the inn-keep's wife with a soft hello and smile. She returned his gesture, hand extending to deliver the message. "I'd hate to interrupt or infringe on your privacy, Sir Malavai, but a courier asked me to deliver this message to you -- it seemed of high importance and urgency."His heart thudded. Something urgent? His thoughts lingered on Gwyn and Ellimere. Did something happen? Worry etched into his alabaster visage, he kindly thanked the woman and shut the door promptly when she aimed to depart. He started to tear the letter open without haste, concerned for the well-being of his sisters. But, as his eyes scanned the contents of the message, he'd sigh loudly. "Help me -- if I keep reacting to things like that, I might give myself a heart attack." He did wonder if Ellimere was all right; surely she had to be since she was recovering from a fever, right? Rubbing his chin, paper in hand, he'd return to the windowsill, sapphire-eyes pinned on the world outside. "Hm..." Twas quite some time since he last saw his sister. Undoubtedly, he would wish nothing more than to reunite, to see her once again. He did wonder what kind of business for the Order and Southpeak would bring her to Vertholt, but he wouldn't question. Assuming she arrived soundly, they could talk about everything in person.

He found himself sauntering over to his desk, pen pressed against paper as he began to write. He stamped the letter once it was finished and went downstairs in search of a courier -- like the previous 'mailman', the one who accepted the challenge would be paid handsomely.

---

My Dearest Sister,

I am well, thank you for asking. I also appreciate that you took the time to write me. I have missed both you and Ellimere so. My thoughts are with her recovery -- it's an utter shame she fell ill. But, yes, I would really like to see you when you arrive. There is a tavern we could convene at, if you would like? Or, we could gather at a wealthier place -- whatever suits your fancy, my sister. And, I am safe. I am eager and joyful to see you.

Love,
Malavai.
P.S. Be safe in your travels to Vertholt. I will wait for you.

Two weeks later the crackle of snow crunching under the stout heel of Gwyneth's traveling boots broke the silence filling the sleepy streets that could only belong to early morning; travelers still waited away the weariness of their journeys in soft beds, parents roused fussy children from slumber with a call to breakfast, merchants trekked to their stalls to prepare their wares before market hours, and even the under-life of the city had set aside their machinations for a time.

Gwyneth's lungs burned with each shallow breath she took. The cold seeped through her bones even as gloved hands pulled a thick fur cloak tighter around her body, its grey bristles obscuring the pale blue garment of heavy velvet that she wore beneath it. Her heart went out to the wolf that gave its life along with its pelt for her comfort and well being. Refraining from eating meat was easy enough, but even Gwyneth couldn't bear the cold without sacrifice from an animal or two.

She quickened her pace to reach the tavern that she and Malavai had inevitably settled upon in their continued correspondence. It wasn't what her blood and breeding lent itself to, but Gwyneth had a tendency to be far from typical in many of her decisions. This particular one hinged upon her desire to visit the locals and tend to the poor after her meeting with her brother. Such a thing was best accomplished if she arrived earlier and where the people were to truly be found rather than any showing put on by others of her own ilk.

Now then, which one is it, Gwyneth thought to herself as she came upon a row of inns and taverns dispersed between market stalls and shops. Despite spending five years within Vertholt, the Gifted female had been within the walls of a tower for most of the time and thus was unfamiliar with her surroundings unlike true natives to the city. She scanned the area for a brief moment before reaching into the satchel she carried at her waist and pulling out the letters from the younger Eventine to find the hand drawn map that had accompanied one of them.

Aroused from her slumber with a firm rapping of knuckles against the chamber door, Raewynne jolted awake; frame lunging upward as if frightened. In fact, she overslept, all things considered: the woman with an alter ego knew of this day to be quite paramount. Malavai's reminder was round-the-clock, after all -- like and endless ticking of the minute-hand. Never ending, non-stop. Not that it annoyed her. No -- of course not. Raewynne was just as ecstatic as Malavai. He was a dear friend... loyal, trusting and helpful. She had to be supportive of him! Unfortunately, as much as she remembered today was an important day, the woman was plagued. A nightmare.

A time far too early to be stirred awake, she found herself startled, tossing and turning. Sweat associated with the mental stress glistened upon her contorted and struggling visage, unable to escape the terror inflicted amongst the 'fade'. No matter how fast she ran, how desperately she yearned to reach her family, the dark road seemed ceaseless -- like she could never grasp them; they were far along the dusky, eerie horizon. As much as she called out for a response, they remained ever-so silent. Unfortunately, it was a re-occurring nightmare, often a modified version of the last. Sometimes she could hear their wails, their pleas -- it drove her insane, being unable to successfully take action. This dream, she was moment's within rescue until they vanished, faded into darkness. And, then... she was alone. Lost. Confused. Defeated.

As much as she enjoyed sleep, it occasionally troubled her. However, relief washed over her being when she realized it was nothing but a dream, although the next difficulty was returning to the land of slumber. Not that she was fearful of the dark, but she regularly wrapped her arms around her frame to comfort any racing heart beat or hyperventilating breath before laying back down. So, when Malavai tapped against the wood of the door, Raewynne was merely catching up on lost "z's". Quickly, though, she sprouted from bed to quickly clean herself off and get dressed before answering the door. "Morning, Malavai. Sorry for the wait," she murmured as she grabbed her winter-cape, bow and daggers situated on her frame in their normal place. Dressed in warmth for the winter's nasty howl, Wynne muttered, "Ready?"

Malavai noticed Raewynne looked troubled -- or was it simply a lack of sleep? Traveling together, it was common to find her restless in her sleep; and all the while understandable. Being away from family, it was hard to resist worrying about them. He understood that well and clearly -- even still, he was aware she had some relatives living in Vertholt, but to maintain the 'secrecy', she preferred renting out at one of the local inns. He didn't say anything though, knowing she would hardly divulge if he even asked, so he merely nodded when she inquired if he was prepared to gather with Gwyn.

---

"You really don't mind if I tag along?" She asked with a brow raised, fur-lined hood -- of course -- obscuring the expression on her alabaster face. Partly from lack of sleep, but her eyes felt heavier with the wind that rolled along the streets; not to mention it was cold. The sun had recently arisen, so it had yet set warmth to the day. Blending with the surrounding, Raewynne wore a white coat and cloak, as well as gloves, trousers and boots. She wasn't dressed to the occasion, but that was because of her outward portrayal -- common birth. Even if her clothes seemed expensive, she always brushed it off as having many-a-gold leftover from her occupation.

"Of course I don't mind, Milady. That's a foolish question," his gaze turned toward her as he asked, "you look tired. Did you rest well?" Concern was plastered upon his red face, the cold wind giving him a slight burn. He wore heavy clothes lined with fur, their shade a greyish hue. The fur even wrapped around his neck like a lion's mane. Though, even with the fur, the cold managed to creep inside, a chill down to the very core. Based on their quickened pace toward their designated meeting spot, one could tell they wanted to be close to an open, roaring fire. "I'd like you to meet my sister. You don't have to mention who you truly are, though." His gloved-hand ascended to cover his eyes like a visor, sapphire-oculars noting the inn up ahead.

"I suppose I slept enough. You know me -- I'll be fine." She murmured, crossing her arms against her chest. When she spoke, she could feel warmth escape her lips, followed by her visible breath. Malavai purely nodded to her retort. As they reached the inn, the two waited outside, each facing the differing directions on the street. Wynne scanned her side, only to find naught, however, Malavai saw someone wandering this way. Then, the figure abruptly stopped and looked as if they were reaching for something in their pouch.

Daringly, Malavai called out, the wind likely to pick up his voice for travel, "Lady Gwyneth?!" His arms rose to flag her down in a wave, hoping to gain her attention. Wynne turned to face Malavai's direction, awaiting to see if it was, in fact, Malavai's sister. She certainly hoped so -- one always prayed for safe travel.

Fresh flakes of snow started to drift down from the overcast sky and dotted the sheaf of papers Gwyneth was clutching. She lifted her gaze away from Malavai's letters as his voice rang out from in front of a tavern a little way down the road from where she stood now and a small but warm smile stretched across her lips. Her hood slipped down as she waved to her brother, confirming who she was and revealing a shock of red hair twisted into a braided bun at the back of her neck where the curved tip of Aegis peaked over the fur collar.

She returned the letters and pulled the hood of her cloak back up to protect against frost before hurrying to join Malavai and his still unknown companion. "Brother," Gwyneth exclaimed as she reached the pair, the heat from her words producing a visible effect in the fridge air. Her face was alight with joy at seeing her sibling in person, granted, part of the brightness to her pink cheeks was from the cold. "It's good to see you, and your friend, of course." Gwyneth smiled at Raewynne, but was content to let her brother do the introduction.

He couldn't stop himself, couldn't restrain the sheepish grin once Gwyneth was found to be healthy and sound from the trek. Oh, how his guilt-ridden heart was happy for once -- his sister was standing before him, the resemblance was uncanny and unmistakable. The crimson hair and the undeniably joyful persona. Even the poise reminded him of her, one of a gentle grace that defined Gwyn. "Sister, glad you made it -- you seem well," He muttered, his exuberant expression similar to his sibling's aura. For a moment, he forgot about Wynne, embarrassed when his sister made a comment. "Oh, right, forgive me." He paused, contorting just slightly to glance back at Wynne from over his shoulder. He debated for a moment about something, before speaking. "How about I introduce the two of you in the luxury of a warm fire? I believe it'd be more convenient, considering it's terribly cold and dreadful out here." Now shifting his position, he glanced back and forth at the two, curious about their response.

"I think that's a reasonable bargain." Raewynne chuckled, a soft smiled adorned on her face -- truthfully, she never met Gwyn, but had heard many great things about her. "Happy to see you've arrived," she murmured, removing the hood to expose her dainty visage: a pearly-white complexion, honey-brown irises, strawberry-blonde tresses and the warmest of smiles. Her delicate nose was a little reddened, scrunching lightly as a small snowflake fell upon it. She moved closer to the siblings, Malavai moving to hold the large door open, should Gwyn accept the offer.

"After you," He stated to the two women, realizing a random thought: they were roughly around the same height, and here he was, towering over them. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, just blessed his sister was securely in arms reach. And, well, he was eager to sit down and spend time with her -- idle chit-chat or not, the company was all that mattered.

"Of course, brother," Gwyneth said agreeably to his suggestion. The warmth of a fire had called to her bones since the moment she had left camp earlier that morning. There had been a brief reprieve upon reaching the stables where Gwyneth had left Vakarian to rest, but soon enough she had departed to meet her brother as planned through their missives and the chill consumed her as before.

Gwyneth gifted another amiable smile to Raewynne before following Malavai and stepping through the opened door with her less than bustling skirts. "My thanks to you both," she said in regards to their respective hospitality. Knowing that the two would soon follow, for none among the living desired to stay in the arms of bitter winter, Gwyneth undid the pearl stoned clasp to her cloak and removed it from her shoulders. Though still cold, it would not do to wear many a layer before a heated hearth.

The full length of Aegis was revealed as the fur sheath fell away. Gwyneth was quick to remove the blanched shepherd's crook from the gold sash around her waist that held it in place before wrapping it gingerly within the previously removed attire. It was far from a weapon in the hands of a normal man, but Gwyneth was one of the Gifted. Pacifist though she was, she was not wearing the robe of either order and did not want any patrons or, gods forbid, proprietor, thinking she was potential trouble. Aside from that, it was simply easier to carry both bulky items together when they were not fastened to her own frame.

Malavai was the last to enter the inn, shutting the door after the trio were inside. Both Malavai and Raewynne stomped their boots at the entrance, as if to rid any clumps of snow from their feet. His sapphire-gaze glanced around, noting that the room was a tavern first, with steps leading up to what one would assume to be the rooms -- thus making the place a tavern-inn. Since daybreak had just begun, Malavai expected the crowd downstairs to be rather desolate -- and he was right. There wasn't many around, save for the owner of the tavern-inn and some barmaids; but he was glad to find a table near the roaring fire vacant. "We can sit over there," he spoke as he gestured and pointed. Assuming the two women would move first, he'd trail behind, helping seat the two if they allowed. He was courteous at times, after all; maybe majority of the time. Once he sat his 'rump upon the stump', he'd begin the introductions. "Gwyn, this is... Wynne. Wynne Fletcher." He paused to direct his gaze at Raewynne, nodding as if to affirm her alias, "Wynne, this is my sister, Gwyneth." A smile upon his lips, Malavai would remove the heavier articles of clothing, wearing a grey, long-sleeved tunic. His shield and sword rested upon his fur-lined coat on an empty seat. Awaiting the end of introduction, Malavai asked, "So, what brings you to Vertholt, my sister?" His head tilted as he sat upright, rubbing his chin -- he could feel the stubble beginning to grow; sooner or later, he'd have to trim it, again. His eyes lingered on the two he found himself conversing with, noting the shepherd's crook at his sister's side.

Raewynne exchanged another warm smile toward Gwyneth, she too removing the coat that obscured her features. Underneath the cloak and coat was a forest green long-sleeve blouse, and she even had extra trousers underneath the white pair, but they were a chocolate-brown in color -- now that the coat left her frame exposed, more or less, the tinge underneath was somewhat evident; but she wouldn't remove the trousers, no, she'd sit away from the fire so she wouldn't find herself too hot. First, though, she politely declined Malavai's courteous gesture. Elbows and arms resting on the table, she leaned forward, eyes glancing back and forth between the siblings. As much as she'd never admit, Raewynne loved Gwyn's outfit, wishing to ask who tailored it; but that was a life she had to suppress. Smiling at the thought, her eyes then rested on the shepherd's crook, coming to the possible realization that Gwyn wasn't just ordinary -- no -- but part of the Gifted, the Order; or a natural? Eyes gleaming against the dancing flames across from her, Wynne's hand would extend after Malavai's introductions, aimed to take and shake Gwyn's own. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Gwyneth." Raewynne returned the nod, approving of using her alias, even with Malavai's sister. Grinning, she retracted her hand, placing her bow on-top of her coat on the seat beside her. Her daggers rested along her hips -- she wouldn't part with them. One could never be too careful, hence why it was imperative to keep to the false identity. She couldn't bear to know that giving her actual name to Gwyn in the future would come to harm her -- it was just something she wouldn't do. The Ranger woman was paranoid, of course.

Reverting to silence, she watched and listened to the siblings, input held off for now. She enjoyed hearing what the two had to say. And, well, she was kind of tired. She didn't mind sitting and paying attention... if only for a little while.

What snow had formed between heel and toe of Gwyneth's boots slid easily without the same effort that Raewynne and Malavai had exerted as she stepped twice across the berth of the entryway. Her natural poise extended to her stride which gave her a light enough step to avoid much in the way of buildup. It was second nature to Gwyneth and given no more thought than breathing. She took direction from her brother and with his aid was seated before the fireplace with thanks given, but not before her cloak covered staff was leaned against her chair, opposite side from the open flame. There was a minor repositioning which let the petite woman view both her brother and his companion equally.

"The pleasure is mine, truly," Gwyneth replied, her tone as genial as ever. There was little time to inquire more of the other woman as her brother asked of her business, but she fully intended to at a later point. For now her attention focused upon Malavai's visage, intent, but soft. He truly looked like their father had in his younger days before tragedy had befallen the Eventine family. It was a bittersweet thought at best, but Gwyneth hid the pain that started well within the depths of soul behind the gentleness native to her own face.

"As I mentioned in my letter, I have business with the Order of the Sun as well as business on behalf of the Novaliate Order. I have also heard certain... rumors that are relevant to the restoration of Southpeak's prosperity. Perhaps you would have more insight on the matter, brother. You recall Bard Alrikson, do you not?"

An old wives' tale said that if you spoke of the Shadow lord, he would appear.

Bard, son of Alrik, while responsible for the ends of more than a few lives, was no Qwevytul, but he had an uncanny sense of timing. Bard had left Vertholt earlier that morning to hunt, hoping to bring a little more meat in for the Tavern, since winter was always a lean time, even here in the capital. He'd been fortunate this morning, and had taken a fat, sleek-pelted doe shortly after sunrise. He'd had to walk almost six leagues, hauling the heavy beast in a small dog-cart. He'd taken the deer to a local butcher he knew, who would do the messy work without charge, instead keeping a few choice pieces of the meat for himself. For some reason, the man had an affinity for organ meat, and while Bard had never partaken of any of the man's recipes, he had to admit to a certain interest. In Bard's mind, to waste any useful part of the animal was not only foolish, it was disrespectful. The hide would be stripped and sold to a tanner, the bones sold to craftsmen, and the meat would be delivered to the tavern as soon as it was ready.

His breath came out in misty puffs as he approached the door to the Dancing Hare, the inn he'd found himself employed at after his money had run out, and Ephraim had left on his own adventure. The inn itself was a fine, upstanding establishment in one of the nicer boroughs of the capital, and the old couple that ran it were good, salt of the earth people. They saw to it that the former soldier had a warm bed to sleep in and square meals, and still paid him a small sum. In return, Bard hunted, cooked, cleaned, and repaired things around the inn for them, constantly working on anything to keep his mind off of less pleasant thoughts and memories. As his hand pressed into the rough wood of the door, he looked skyward for a moment, pausing on the step, and sighed. The cold didn't bother him, but it drew out memories he didn't want rising to the surface. Wynne never did like the cold... He thought as the door creaked open.

He slung his crossbow from across his shoulders as he stepped through the entryway, kicking the snow off his boots. His head jerked up as he heard someone in the Tavern say his name, and his eyes immediately fixed on a woman sitting near the fire, in the company of two others, with scarlet hair and clothes that only a Noble could wear. "Gwyneth Eventine?" He said, mostly to himself, his voice quiet and deep. What in the world was she doing in Vertholt? He hadn't seen Southpeak's resident Lady since the day he'd left for the Imperial capital. His eyes shifted to her male companion, and he noted the similarities between the two. Unless he missed his guess, the man was Malavai Eventine, her brother, though the last time Bard had seen him, he'd been but a wee lad, still clinging to his sister's skirts.

Then his eyes turned to the third person sitting at the table. Her back was to him, but for a moment he thought he saw something familiar in her posture, in the cut of her hair and the slope of her shoulders. Then he noted the long, sheathed daggers at her hips, and his eyes widened with sudden realization. His crossbow slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor loudly as he took a half step forward. His throat felt tight, and suddenly he wasn't sure if he was awake, or maybe in the midst of some incredibly elaborate dream. Would she even recognize him? He'd lost a fair bit of weight since he'd last held her in his arms. His beard was thicker, and hair longer, but even if she had any doubts, she'd not be able to ignore the twin axes hanging from his belt.

"Wynne?" He croaked, barely believing his eyes

Pain. It struck swiftly, caught her off-guard. It resonated in a location she thought was well-hidden, too disguised; too suppressed for any significant response -- her aching heart. She hoped time both healed and prepared her for this, but although somewhat old, it was still a festering wound. To think a sudden mention of his name stirred such a reaction of her tattered soul. Bard. Bard Alrikson. It was as if she saw a ghost, felt a phantom. There was a subtle widen of her honey-oculars, but she could feel the heat leaving her body, as if a spiritual creature drained life, absorbed warmth from her being. The pallor of her flesh was increasing, the natural tone of her skin fading to something more colorless, almost as if her skin became translucent. But, she didn't grimace externally, though her eyes conveyed anxiety, shock and suffering; negative emotions that were neglected for quite some time -- brushed aside and off until she fell prey to her thoughts and dreams. She sat straight now, hands and arms resting on her lap. She felt uncomfortable, but the two wouldn't understand. Fidgeting with her digits under the table, Raewynne did her best to contain the torment without giving away too much.

But, as she averted her gaze between the two siblings, her thoughts raced, her mind was blaring one fact of this tragic reality: Bard was dead. Why would they mention a dead man? What was their intention? Or... did they know something she didn't know about? She couldn't just blurt out her secrets, her past; not even Malavai or her family knew. She wouldn't, as much as she willed it so.

"Restoration of Southpeak... rumors about it? Why, no..." He trailed off, trying to recollect any recent gossip about their home city. But, as Gwyn further inquired about Bard Alrikson, a native to Southpeak, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "... Yes, I believe I remember a man who went by that name." He paused, a vivid memory unraveling within his mind. It included a man named Bard and the altercation with his father, Lord Eventine. Glancing away from his sister, as if rejecting the thought, he noticed Wynne's strange... aura and expression? But, his first conclusion was that lack of sleep inflicted her with a ghastly state -- still, he couldn't help but shake the thought that it was a warning of some kind. Although, his brow arched and his gaze rolled toward Gwyn. "Why? Why mention him?" He found his gaze rested on Raewynne again, wondering if she was catching a cold or running a fever -- he wouldn't doubt if Gwyn picked up on the strange vibe, too. Well, his glance lingered until he caught a figure entering the inn through the corner of his peripheral vision.

The Sentinel's eyes locked on the man standing at the door, squinting as he tried to take in the features so that he could process any familiarity. The crossbow clanking against the floor brought Malavai's attention to Bard, but he didn't say anything -- he just looked. What would warrant a man to drop his crossbow? But, as Malavai paid attention to close detail, he noticed the tall man fixated his gaze on them. What could he possibly want? What was he afraid of? That was the reason for dropping his weapon, no? The angle made him realize something: the foreign man's gaze drifted and remained on Wynne. Alternating his own scope, Malavai eventually discovered his identity -- the man was roughly a spitting image of his father, after all; though it was likely Gwyn would know for certain, since Malavai was in his youth during those times. It seemed less of a hostile approach, but Bard was hesitant -- apprehensive of what, though? Examining Wynne's expression, he leaned toward her, hand moving to gently clasp the back of her one hand, as if to support and reawaken her state of mind. Whatever was transpiring, Malavai was cautious and guarded, gaze now pinned on the taller male in the room -- eyes adamantly locked on Bard.

She felt it. She knew it. She was the elephant in the room, especially when the employee showed up. She didn't jump at the crossbow crashing to the ground -- She didn't startle easy. Something, however, was restricting her from turning her head to gaze at the man. Raewynne was stuck, hindered by expectations. Bard was dead. How many times did she say that to herself each night after the attack at Pinemarsh? How many nights curled up in her own arms did it take for her to realize that fact? One too many. He was dead, and this was a dream. Maybe she was still resting in the bed, thinking that she was awoken, but actually wasn't. That had to be the answer -- or this was some sick, twisted joke. But how could the two siblings be involved? They didn't know -- she never told anyone of Bard. Was it witchcraft? She'd accept the crazier renditions, truthfully. Perhaps someone read her mind, tapped into her deepest memories and secrets, found traces of a man she used to love. Maybe it was a shape-shifter. It couldn't be trusted, wouldn't be trusted. She couldn't look; personally, she didn't want raised expectations to be crushed -- thus it was better to cling to an irrational though, to expect the unexpected. As she pondered this, eyes ablaze by the roaring fire, Wynne knew that the two would question... she didn't want to divulge information. It was always best to lock the hurt up, throw away the key and focus on the task at hand. Yet, from what she could remember, that voice was his. She could keep entertaining all these thoughts all day, and as much as the fire reminded her of the bridge-burner insignia, something jolted her 'awake'.

It was the gentle clasp of Malavai's hand. Eyes darting in his direction, she'd realized that there was someone standing behind her, calling out to her. While her Sentinel's gaze returned to the stranger, Wynne ducked her head, dipping it low. And, as if insecurely, she sluggishly and reluctantly turned her head -- slowly making her way to gaze at the man from the edge of her sight. But, with that lowered head, strands of strawberry-blonde hair shielded her visage, the honey irises only slightly visible. Her jaw was clenched, bottom lip ensnared by her teeth, brows declined in worry. Malavai and Gwyn might have noticed the expression, but it was certainly unclear to Bard. However, this allowed her to safely inspect the man behind her person, noting his features. Did she even remember what Bard looked like? He was often in her dreams, haunting her.

The man before her was, what she guessed, the same height. His features overall felt similar, just longer, like his hair... and the man was thinner. One thing that affirmed he was the real deal -- well, it wouldn't be stated she was convinced -- was the pair of axes at his sides. She knew them to be on Bard only. Strange, how a person can change, but a weapon couldn't -- even stranger that it helped defined a person's identity. Even with this big reveal, she found herself troubled.

She couldn't speak, couldn't move further. Shock inflicted an emotional and mental paralysis on her. As much as she wanted to cry out a name, it prevented her. One thought wouldn't resist.

This was a nightmare.

It was a simple matter of etiquette that delayed Gwyneth's evaluation of Raewynne's shift in composure, for her eyes stayed only upon Malavai as he spoke. The occasional glances of others did not bother the woman, seeming as natural to them as could be, but she was singular in focus for during conversations. Nor did she have a soldier's training where keen awareness of surroundings and constant vigilance flowed through battle hardened blood, and so Bard's initial venture into quiet vocals after his entrance went unheard and unseen by her.

"No, brother. I did not mean rumors about Southpeak itself, but rather-"

The crossbow clattering to the ground and Bard's call to Wynne however, did not meet with such a lack of acknowledgement as it cut off Gwyneth's response to her brother. The brittle noise of weapon to floor collision had put the entire room on edge in an instant. What had been a comfortable, if static, atmosphere of quiet conversation from their group punctuated by the crackle of burning logs was now an intense silence in the aftermath.

Gwyneth no longer viewed Malavai as the sole interest of her attentions. Her sharp eyes of ice softened by simple virtue of a kinder soul flicked quickly from Bard, whom Gwyneth was more sure of identity than the other two, to Wynne, and back again. It was obvious that something was wrong, but the nature and degree were lost upon her and lady that she was, Gwyneth could not let the heavy void fester among the room for any time past what had been wasted. It didn't help that what few people were present had started to stare for longer than was acceptable as well.

She arose from her seat and moved toward Bard with a practiced grace that gave the illusion of gliding when she wore garments with longer length than that of those she traveled in. In the process of her fluid passing from chair to man, Gwyneth had managed to extract Aegis from the folds of her cloak, the latter of which now laid at the feet of her former resting place. The sound of ironbark tapping gently across the kindred material marked Gwyneth's short and swift progress with its use as a walking stick.

Many might mark her collection of the staff as a fear of Bard or his actions. The stark difference between height and appearance lent itself to this assumption, but such a thing could not have been further from the truth. Gwyneth's time within the Order of the Sun had instilled a marked need to be near her focus at all times. Simply put, she felt bare without it.

"Ser Alrikson, I did not expect such serendipity to befall me. Alas, my request can wait, for a time. Please allow me introduce the others," Gwyneth said slowly, carefully even, as she came to a stop. Her back was now to Malavai and Raewynne as she stood before Bard. She made a simple gesture in their direction with her free hand. "I do hope you remember my younger brother, Malavai Eventine and it seems that you already know our other guest, Wynne Fletcher." Refinement or not, Gwyneth's tone sounded slightly less informative than it did inquisitive.

The towering man barely registered Gwyneth as she rose from the table. In fact, until she interposed herself between Bard and Wynne, his eyes never left her orange hued gaze. He didn't know what to do. For once in his life, Bard felt frozen solid, a statue of glistening ice that even the heat from the roaring fireplace couldn't thaw. The muscles in his jaws bunched and unbunched under his shaggy growth of facial hair as he grit his teeth and tried to make sense of it all. What were the odds? The Eventine Siblings and Wynne Fletcher coming together for a meeting, and they just happen to pick the one tavern in all of Vertholt that he happened to be working in? For a moment, he was suspicious. Was this some kind of a ploy? Had they been brought here at the behest of someone who knew Bard? Someone who wanted them to find him? Or someone who wanted to have Bard off balance when they sprung some kind of sneak attack?

He saw the look on Wynne's face, the mix of disbelief and abject horror, and as Gwyneth interposed herself between them, his eyes turned downward to study her. This was no trick, no trap. They'd not even known he was there until he'd walked through the door. Swallowing the lump in his throat, then clearing it with a rough noise, he stooped to scoop the crossbow back up, then met Gwyneth's eyes yet again. "Gwyn...it's good to see you again." He mumbled, placing one thick mitt of a hand on her shoulder and giving it an affectionate squeeze. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but this is, well, important." He stepped past her, laying the weapon on an empty table and approaching Wynne and Malavai. What was he going to say? Hello? I'm sorry? How have you been? Everything he could have said sounded ludicrously stupid in his head.

He stopped just a foot or so away from the table, his shoulders tense, eyes sweeping over Wynne's face. He couldn't fight the wry, sad, relieved smile that slowly spread across his lips. "Wynne," he said, struggling to find something to say, "I'm alive." He reached out and placed one calloused hand over hers, as if a touch would prove the truth of his words, and then let it drop back to his side. In the back of his mind, some sarcastic part of his conscious spit out the thought: Ephraim wouldn't believe this if he'd been here to see it himself.

Malavai was concerned when Gwyneth rose and approached Bard Alrikson, not sure of the man's intentions. He didn't want his sister to get hurt in his or Wynne's stead. While he knew his sister was capable, it was a natural fear of security for his sister. But, as a member of the Gifted and bearing that crook, Malavai knew she'd defend herself if it came down to it. Gwyn was brave -- the Lady of the Phoenix stood up to even the most intimidatingly-looking threats; it was awe-inspiring to him, as always. He looked up to his older sibling, that was certain.

Gwyn introduced the Southpeak native to Malavai and noted that Bard already knew Wynne -- the Sentinel came upon the same conclusion. He only wondered on what circumstance or sort of relationship Wynne and Bard had. A friendship? Something professional? But, with his friend's expression, Malavai began to think it was something more, something much more intimate. Lovers? Something sinister? Gaze lingering on Bard and Gwyn -- in case he needed to interfere -- Malavai observed the conversation. All seemed well, but Malavai felt uncomfortable as Bard advanced toward the two of them at the table. He just felt as if he was interrupting a moment? But, he acknowledged the ex-soldier with a nod, ears and eyes honed to pay attention. What could Bard possibly want? He couldn't help but realize that the smile, the gesture and soft words affirmed his suspicion; it was likely the two fraternized together. It was still possible that they were merely close friends. Malavai supposed it was soon to be unraveled, this mystery.

The silence was eerie, but now the room only contained Bard and Wynne -- the woman blocked all other presences, gaze staring at the man who, after all this time was alive. And, whilst she couldn't speak at the moment, she realized it wasn't her turn to share words. Truth be told, Raewynne didn't know he was alive, but Bard did, Bard knew, but kept it under wraps? It wasn't her action to make, to take the first move. Even if he'd been here all this time, why? So many questions frantically fluttered within her mind, she was beginning to feel nauseous. The room was spinning, or so it felt, she found herself heated at a rapid, accelerated rate, too. Denial and bargaining was long gone, something else much more passionate was festering: anger. But, before it would emanate from her being, her watchful eyes saw Bard make his way over. While her body didn't physically tense up, she felt threatened, as if there was a hostile, thick air between the two. It was an aura building of her own accord -- layers, walls, guards were called to man their post; Raewynne was trying to push him away, and she had every right for it.

A man who never wrote her, what could he have possibly been doing all this time? She was judging him, her insecurities flaring. Did he try to remain a secret? Why, so that he'd have freedom from her? Did he run away and fake his death? He could be a fugitive, a deserter. Then it hit her: Bard wasn't Bard, not anymore. Her eyes feigned disgust, for a weak, cowardly man was towering over her. He was a man who selfishly hid while she mourned his loss, faced his death day-by-day. Clenching her teeth, it was unnatural the way she flinched and withdrew from his touch. Even his hands felt different. Head tilted upward, she let him say his brief words. Wynne, I'm alive. Jaw moving as she processed her thoughts, something unexpected happened. Her lips twisted, as if trying to suppress the reaction coming from her maw, but even that couldn't be tamed. She laughed, loudly and uncontrollably. Perhaps it was in part with the lack of sleep, maybe it was the sickly feeling, but she couldn't stop. That was what he had to say? Something so obvious and stupid? Did he think that would make her feel better? In the wake of all that laughter was a sick smile and she rose, running a hand through her hair to remove any strands from her face. Maw agape, she'd shake her head and reach for her bow, arrows and cloak-coat, muttering. "Excuse me. I'm not feeling well, so it's best I depart to rest." Her words were more for Malavai and Gwyn. At that moment, she thought Bard didn't deserve the time of day. Weaving around him swiftly, she could feel the beads of sweat rolling down her dainty face, balance amuck with the slight nausea and vertigo. She was headed for the door, to escape this nightmare. She didn't bother putting the cloak on, lest she wanted to pass out right then and there. This place was unwelcoming in a way she never thought possible, but, before most could halt her in her tracks, she managed to slip out of the door without exerting much force to open it -- a nimble woman such as her had no trouble. If someone went after her, then it was assured they'd be faced with unpredictability.

Bard betrayed her trust, her loyalty. She felt back-stabbed. Him of all people.

Malavai watched the scene unfold, but didn't stop the Banshee. He would, however, trail the woman as she got up and left, only to cease Gwyn from making any effort to chase after her. "She'll be fine, trust me... sister. We'll see how she's doing later, I promise. It'd do more harm to us and her now than later." He was right. When missions went awry or an outcome was met that was undesirable to the woman, she often became angry and there was no consoling her in the heat of the moment -- not until she calmed down. Tracking her down now would be foolish... even if one couldn't enjoy the company as much as before. His gaze diverted to Bard, awaiting his reaction, but the faintest of frowns was noticeable on his light lips.

Gwyneth did not shy away from Bard's touch as many a noble woman might have, but pivoted slowly to watch the scene unfold without response. It was not her way to waste words where they would not be heard or helpful and it was more than clear that the only words that Bard would, and needed to, hear at that point in time would be from Wynne. Bard was not the only one waiting for her response. The entire room hung upon his last words.

The impact of his proclamation was not entirely in what Bard had said, but rather the way he had said the words and the way that they had been accepted. Tenderness met with ice colder than anything nature could produce. The implications of a close relationship were obvious, even without formal detail, but no less surprising. Gwyneth conveyed this with a subtle arch to her brow that lasted mere seconds before the expression was replaced with a look of concern when Raewynne passed her on the way to the door.

She made to reach for the other woman's arm, but was late in catching her. The sound of the door shutting held a tone of finality that Malavai repeated in his warning not to go after her. It did nothing to stop Gwyneth from feeling like it was her duty. The matriarch knew much of death. First it had been her mother after the birth of Ellimere, then the miscarriage of her own child, followed shortly thereafter by the death of both her father and husband.

The pain Gwyneth experienced had shaped much of who she was to that day. After pain came acceptance, except that the pain was always there. Truly it was more learning to function again than actual acceptance, as if you had lost a part of your own body. There were moments one found themselves wanting to do something as simple as share an event from their day with a loved one who passed, but found themselves unable to. That was when the pain was most profound. Many a time Gwyneth had found herself with some small injury or sickness and wanted to run to her mother to make it better, even well into adulthood, not to mention the emptiness she came home to every night within her bedchambers that she has once shared with Marcus. That was when she felt most helpless for there was nothing that could be done to fix the situation, no end to the hollow ache within her soul.

If Wynne had been as truly close to Bard as the situation suggested, then she knew of the same emotions that Gwyneth experienced. It was not a singular event, but something to be dealt with day after day. To have been the bearer of all that pain and to find out that it had been unnecessary, well, Gwyneth could not only imagine the hurt, but the anger which Wynne was feeling.

Perhaps her brother was right. Going after Wynne might not be wise. Nor was shouldering that burden her responsibility when the guilty party was still present. Gwyneth was torn, indecisiveness translating to stillness for a second or two. However, Gwyneth believed that pain was lessened when shared. It was the foundation of her work. She had lost those she might share her own with, for she would not trouble her younger siblings with such a task, but surely she could be there for Wynne, even if it was not her place.

"I'm sorry, brother."

Her apology was soft and sincere, but her movements clearly defiant of her brother's wishes. If Wynne chose to take her anger out on her, so be it. Cloak left fireside, Gwyneth's short stride hastened as compensation taking her quickly from the room before her brother could physically stop her. She was only seconds behind Wynne in exiting and called out to the other woman, "Wynne! Please wait!"

The former soldier didn't know what hurt more: The way Wynne recoiled from his touch, or the look in her eyes when she got up and left. Bard felt like the energy had been drained out him, like Raewynne had taken one of those long daggers and jammed it into his heart. As she pushed past him and disappeared out the door, Bard was left speechless, his mouth hanging open slightly. Dd he follow her? What would that achieve? Did she think he'd just abandoned her, that he'd wanted to go a year without knowing if she was alive, or if she'd died out in Pinemarsh as well.

The difference, he supposed, was that no one had told him she was dead. From what he'd heard from the survivors of Pinemarsh, everyone had thought he was dead. Bard had written letter after letter, but not one had made it to her. The couriers had never been able to find Wynne, though why that was the case, Bard had no idea. He became aware of the look Malavai was giving him, but ignored it as he pulled a chair out from the table and slumped into it.

Bard's elbows came up and rested atop the surface of the table, palms pressing into his eyes as he suppressed a frustrated groan. He could have gone after her. Should have gone after her, but now Gwyneth Eventine was out there, and while Bard and Gwyn might have disagreed on a lot of things, he knew that the Lady of Southpeak would be better company for Wynne than he would. Gods above, I need a drink...

He crushed that thought immediately. He didn't need a drink. He'd been doing too much of that over the last year, and now was neither the time or the place for such self-pitying bullshit. With a frustrated sigh, he leaned back in his chair and noted the frown on Malavai's face. "Oh don't give me that look, Little Lordling. Last thing I wanted in this world was to hurt her." His voice was more of a growl than he might've intended, but he was in no mood for judgmental nobility.

The barmaid in disguise had heard the clattering out in the main dining area, curiosity piqued as to what had caused the noise. She was, however, unable to go see what the commotion and then sudden silence was. Instead, the owner's wife was keeping a close watch upon every move Kuerina made. It was aggravating, being watched. She never did like the feeling of eyes upon her, especially when her true profession was sneaking about and doing... sneaky things. Going on Marks only gave her so much money that lasted only for so long. So here she was, in the great capital of Vertholt, working as a barmaid as a cover story. 

Her crimson tinged eyes turned towards the doorway leading back to the where the patrons dwell, the fingers kneading the sticky dough itching to stop so she could go take a look. The woman with the old, beady eyes let out an exasperated sigh and nudged the girl out of the way, obliging for Kuerina to take her leave and find out what was happening. Not waiting for any more encouraging, the young woman quickly fled through the door, dark orbs searching for the source of her need to know what was going on. It didn't take long to find out.

Just as she had left the kitchen, Kuerina had managed to catch a glimpse of two women exiting the tavern in a quick fashion, one calling out for the other to wait. Instantly, the girl's mind began to spin with scenarios as to why they fled in such a hurry before she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. A large, giant of a man moving to take a seat near the hearth. That man was no other than Bard, the man that helped forced Kuerina get a job at the Dancing Hare. It was better than losing fingers for stealing, at least. 

Moving further into the room, Kuerina moved towards the table her co-worker was now occupying as her eyes caught yet another man, this one younger and, like everyone else compared to her small stature, tall. Her brow creased as she frowned at him, her words directed to the older of the two men. "Bard, are we be needin' to show this man thee way out?"

The crisp, cold air felt like heaven against her pale visage, each colliding snowflake aiding in removing the nausea and dizziness Raewynne previously struggled with. Despite the frigid temperature, it felt comfortable -- like a breeze to rid the heat after overexertion with something athletic. She didn't walk fast, no. She embraced the winter's grasp, perhaps a symbolic representation of how her heart was frosted, chilled to the core. Truthfully, after he died, she wasn't the same. He might have changed and it was likely she did as well. Mourning him was awful, destructive to her character -- it shaped her, molded her into an insecure, over-protective person. She locked herself up more tightly, became reticent and aloof. She didn't want an experience like that again, even if she couldn't brush her family off or the fact that they, too, were mortal. Death was inevitable. Maybe, just maybe, she saw Bard as a hero; someone that couldn't fall, couldn't die. The man she knew, she idolized, she loved and cherished him for what he was. And then here she was, tossing him aside like he meant nothing.

That wasn't her intention. She found the news both troubling and alleviating. It was difficult to explain now, but her emotions were flooding and rushing, crashing and combative with one another. She was confused, essentially, and she was finding it difficult to process this situation, this dramatic turn of events. Her mind had so many jumbled thoughts, and as Gwyn understood, grieving over the loss of someone only to discover that it had all been a lie was... just... so confoundedly upsetting. It was unreal.

If Bard would have followed her, sure enough, Wynne would have still been heated, still have been angry -- he probably would have met a physical pain, a slap, something. Wynne couldn't tolerate him at the moment, hence her leave of absence; it was hard coming to terms that her grief wasn't reality. And yet, the suppressed joy wouldn't show. She felt as if she was struggling between two opposing forces at war.

Holding her coat-cloak, but strapping the bow and quiver of arrows to her back, her steps halted at a voice -- had it been a male voice, she would have rejected the call. But, it was Lady Gwyneth, the guest of this occasion, of this meeting; the woman she was to meet. Placing a palm to her head, she'd shake her skull, gazing over her shoulder slightly as she shifted. Her hair, loose and free-flowing, danced energetically with each passing gust of wind. Gwyn, by calling out to her, stopped her from her mindless wandering; she brought her back to reality. Now the Ranger was thinking, more or less, about the unfortunate series of events. "I'm sorry, Lady Gwyneth. I didn't mean to ruin this moment. I-" She abruptly stopped speaking, a lump forming at her throat. She found it hard to swallow, difficult to formulate words. "I-I never expected this... Am I dreaming?" She couldn't understand the concept at hand, she would have honestly believed this was but a horrible yet comforting dream. But, like her nightmares, she felt immobile; unable to take action -- like her inability to save her family before they left her alone. "I hope you can forgive me for this... and what a terrible first impression I must have made on you." Her voice trailed off as she crossed her arms, the cold now invading her figure. Was everyone her enemy and she was blindly walking into a trap? She felt horribly sorry for this 'offense', but didn't resume motion. Maybe Wynne knew of Gwyn's gentle and welcoming nature, but she just felt obligated to stop for her -- to be rude to a woman so nice and kind, she wouldn't do. And, well, perhaps her secret nobility showed by her action; not wishing to harshly dismiss someone who acted out of pure heart and tenderness.

His sister was truly something. While she defied him, he knew Gwyn wouldn't listen -- she dealt with people, offered her shoulder to those who required it; she was a leader, no doubt, and the consequence of dealing with Wynne while she was angry wouldn't deter Gwyn. It was her life's mission. He knew she made it her calling to aid people in need, he just didn't want her to get hurt. It was a brotherly protective trait, he supposed, but he also admired the courage and care her sister showed. Crossing his arms as he scoffed, he realized that, well, his sister was the perfect Matriarch of his family and Southpeak. Not like himself.

He moved to return to the table and gather his belongings, but he couldn't help but notice Bard's strife. And, well, while he frowned at him, his brow arched, "I was frowning for the both of you," he paused, gauging his reaction. He felt horrible for both parties, knowing it was rough for Raewynne to react so cruelly, and for Bard to go without writing for a year? His suspicions were correct, undoubtedly -- they were once romantically involved. Still, Bard didn't have to be so gruff about it. While he awkwardly stood by his possessions, as well as Gwyn's cloak, Malavai was alarmed by a barmaid -- more like tavern girl, he'd say, considering the malnutrition. His brow's curve grew sharper, more defined, his words a little cold, "I beg your pardon? I haven't done anything." This was an employee? What insolence. How did she even find work here? A disrespectful and rude worker never brought any good business -- he was surprised that the tavern was 'doing so well' with a young, brash woman. He crossed his arms, but not before putting his coat back on, as well as the sword to his hip and shield to his back. Gazing at the woman for a brief moment, he'd move to hold his sister's cloak in one of his hands, sapphire eyes judging to see what the two would decide of his 'fate'. But, he had to sigh, the woman meddling in affairs that didn't concern her. She shouldn't have gotten involved, and would do best returning to where she was stationed.

The imperative haste of the chase ceased in tandem with Raewynne's escape from the confines of the tavern and her newest reality. Gwyneth slowed to a more comfortable pace for both women until she stood before the other. Her features showed no tell of the warning Malavai had given her just moments before, displaying only the etchings of concern into the corners of her eyes, brow, and crimson lips which were quick to part in words of dismissal for Wynne's apology.

"My dear, you've absolutely nothing to apologize for. Matters of the heart and soul are not bound to reason like other emotions." Gwyneth carefully reached for the other woman's hands to pull them free from their tangle across Raewynne's chest and grasp within her own delicate fingers, slow and gentle, but steady and firm, as she continued. "As for your first impression upon me, well, that was made quite clear in the respect Malavai shows you and the way he looks at you. My brother is many things, but he is not a poor judge of character."

Alas, winter conceded for the plight no man or woman, no matter the urgency of their need for resolution. Its harsh breath swept through the street that was gradually filling with bundled life that spilled from in from waking inn patrons and busy housewives with blanketed children nested amongst their skirts that blew about their ankles with the uplifted flakes of snow sheared from loose drifts between buildings. The old snow mingled with the new as it swirled around the two who stood in the center of the street. The fresh chill elicited a shiver from at least one of the pair. Her cloak was still where it would do Gwyneth the least good, but she did not relinquish her position with Wynne. A few words from someone who was all but a stranger were unlikely to set things straight, but it was a start and Gwyneth aimed to see it finished, however long it took.

Malavai's words fell on deaf ears. Bard wasn't listening to him. He kept chewing over the mistakes he'd made. He should have gone and found her, should have made more of an effort...but what more could he have done? It took him damn near half a year just to heal, to fight off the sickness that had left him bed ridden and useless after the Battle in Pinemarsh. When he was finally strong enough to write, he did. He spent what little gold he had sending couriers out with one letter after another, but they always made their way back to him, letter in hand. Bard had given up when the money ran out. Letters weren't going to reach her, wherever she was. He'd worried, for a time, that she was dead, that the bandits who'd attacked Pinemarsh had circled back and decimated the Rangers when the battle was over, but he checked the casualty reports that came from Military Command, and her name was never on the lists. He'd known, all along, that she was alive out there.

Bard had stayed in Vertholt for two reasons. First, because he was broke. He had no money, not a coin to his name. Trying to travel anywhere would have been suicidal without armor, without equipment and gear. He couldn't even afford a damn cart to one of the other cities. That meant he needed a job. The military was done with him, wanted nothing to do with a man they deemed unfit for combat. That suited Bard just fine. He was done with marching, done with following orders, done with sending brave men and women to their deaths. If he was going to fight, then the consequences of his actions would rest on his shoulders and his shoulders alone.

The second reason was that he still held out hope, still believed that if she was alive, eventually she'd make her way back to Vertholt. He'd found work, got himself well, built back his strength, and every morning he went out and watched the gates, waiting to see if he'd spot her red-gold hair as she passed under the portcullis. The pain in her eyes haunted him now, made him wish he really had died out there in the swamps. Better for her to have moved on and made a better life, than to have this fresh pain thrust upon her.

He was snapped out of his prison of guilt by a familiar voice, and turned to look at Shae, frowning. What was she on about? Throwing someone out? "What? Oh, him?" He said, realizing she was referring to Malavai, "No, leave'im be. In fact, bring out a pot of tea and some cups. If Wynne and Gwyn don't kill each other out there, I imagine they'll be awfully cold." He pushed himself up out of the chair and made for the staircase leading up to the second and third floors. Bard lived in the attic of the old tavern, the only room the owners could spare. He had kept every letter he'd written, tucked away in his rucksack, and it was this small pile of letters he retrieved now, before returning to the main floor and setting them on the table that had become the center of this mess.

Kuerina kept her eyes upon the young man, brow still furrowed as she gave a grunt in response to Bard's suggestion. She stood there for a few silent seconds more before turning on her heels, returning to the kitchen.

Once she passed through the doorway, her long, pale fingers reached for a teakettle and placed it on the counter next to a door leading to the well just outside of the Dancing Hare. She only hoped the well wasn't frozen over. Wouldn't that be great?

She was granted luck, by which ever god that dealt with water (she never kept up with them, moreso since she was a loyal follower to Qwevytul) as she drawn a pale of water and quickly scuttled back into the kitchen. She hated the cold. Been a part of it all her life and she wished never to be consumed by it.

Pouring the ice cold water into the kettle, Kuerina gave a deep breath. How the hell did she even get to be in a place like this? She loathed people. But here she was, working in a place that required customer service.

She finally hooked the kettle over the fire before walking back out to the dining hall towards the two men. "Tha tea will be done inna few minutes. It's been damn cold out and tha water was nearly ice itself. If you need anythin' more, let me know. I need to deal with the other... Patrons."

With that, "Shae" made her way around the tavern to check up on the others, lest she get scolded for not doing her job. Again.

Gwyn was wise beyond her years, that was evident; but Rae couldn't help but wonder if the Matriarch was speaking from experience. The Banshee was aware that Malavai's father and mother were both killed, so it was safe to assume that Gwyn suffered, just as much as Malavai did, with loss -- if there were more Gwyn mourned, then she didn't know. But, as she thought anyway, Gwyn had to shoulder the burdens of many who lived in Southpeak as their leader; so Raewynne assumed Gwyn understood well enough what trouble or suffering brought upon people.

Raewynne was shocked to see Gwyn move to uncoil the arms at her chest, but she watched merely in surprise -- she wouldn't harshly push Gwyn away, wouldn't take her kindness for granted. Truthfully, she needed a shoulder to lean on, maybe just this once. Hands entwined with Gwyn's own, now, Rae would chuckle softly, the woman's words soothing to her soul. "You're too kind -- and I can see why Malavai thinks so highly of you." She smiled broadly, as if to reassure Gwyn that she was feeling better. Gwyn was one in a million: a truly compassionate soul whose mission was to 'save' people. A rare find indeed, amongst all the darkness and bloodshed.

As much as she disliked the thought of returning inside of the Dancing Hare, the business wasn't arranged or discussed yet. Whatever they needed Bard for was important. Inhaling sharply, which, in conjunction with the burst of wind clashing with the two women, Raewynne shivered, teeth momentarily clattering against one another. She shuddered and cringed, but noticed Gwyn forgot to grab her coat before departing -- it showed how urgent it was for the Matriarch to mend this situation. Noticing the fact, Wynne would retract her hands, taking the cloak she held and moving to drape it over Gwyn's shoulders. It was too frigid to face the cold, especially without the warmth of a coat, and that was the least Wynne could do. Still, they had to return to the Dancing Hare, so with a soft, almost inaudible sigh, Raewynne muttered. "I'm fine, now. Thank you -- truly appreciate the small but encouraging words you've said. But, it's too cold to dwell out here -- I'll be fine if we reconvene in the Dancing Hare." She implied returning there as soon as possible, considering the in-climate weather. "Let's return... before we both get terribly sick." Wynne just had to stay strong, had to remain calm -- the more she thought about returning, it did make her anxious, but it also meant she could enter with a clearer state of mind. She could actually talk to Bard...

She hoped.

Making the first move to walk back over to the entrance, she'd turn to see if Gwyn would follow. If the Eventine sister moved so and without reluctance because of the situation, Wynne would open the door, and saunter inside after her. She wouldn't keep Gwyn out in the cold; couldn't let her suffer for her own stupidity. It was wrong.

The man with short, onyx tresses sighed, grateful Bard wasn't angry enough to kick them out. "Thank you," He muttered to the man, only to blink irregularly as he stood up and left. Was he fleeing? Would he be around when Gwyn and Wynne returned from outside? He rubbed the nape of his neck as he pondered, sapphire-orbs wandering over to the big, wooden door -- but not before watching as the barmaid left to grab some tea for the group; something was off about her, but he couldn't quite grasp it. Thinking back to Gwyn and Wynne, Malavai hoped they'd return soon -- twas nasty outside. Frowning, he debated moving over to the door, but was once again surprised to see Bard, this time with a pile of letters. Could it be-? He thought to himself, and surely he knew -- those were letters for Raewynne. He hadn't forgotten.

His eyes darted to the door after hearing the loud creak of it opening, watching (as he might have expected or predicted) the two women appear once again. And, while he felt relieved, he was concerned about the business affair -- this would certainly complicate things?

Malavai would nod to the attendee before she went to handle the other guests, a symbol of thanks for preparing the kettle against the fire.

Gwyneth's face conveyed a web of emotions as she returned Raewynne's smile. Happiness, relief, and lingering concern each played their part in equal measure. It went without saying, if one possessed an emotional range greater than that of a teaspoon, that the conflict between Malavai's companion and Bard was not something that could be resolved in a day. Strides could be made to reach such a feat, but emotional wounds were far trickier than those of the flesh; Gwyneth had tended to her fair share of both.

Each time Wynne had responded or reacted had opened Gwyneth's insight wider into the kind of person she was. Now Gwyneth had seen enough of her to know that refusing the offered garment was unnecessary. There were many cases where she would insist that the other person keep the coat for their own comfort, but Wynne was kind, much like Gwyneth herself was, and she was a strong woman to have been ready so soon to return to the Dancing Hare, unkind temperatures or not. She did not need to be coddled on certain matters where others might. The reasoning was quickly reached and Gwyneth retained Wynne's coat around her shoulders as she fell in step behind the slightly taller woman after saying, "You flatter me, truly, but yes, let us return for now."

Truth be told, they had not gotten far from the tavern to begin with, nor had they been out in the elements for long, but Gwyneth was eager to return to the warmth of a fire. There was a tinge of guilt with this desire, for it meant leading Wynne back into a fire of another sort, but she had offered and some things were better not left to fester. Closure seemed to be something missing from the events that had transpired however long ago the miscommunication occurred. Whatever happened now, good or bad, it would fulfill that long forgotten duty and her own now was to see it through, to an extent. It was a personal matter and they were adults. Aside from comforting and offering an ear when needed, Gwyneth would not pry into their affairs.

Though Gwyneth had followed, she now stepped through the door opened for her. She first looked to her brother and then to Bard. His poise and possessions delayed Gwyneth once more from bringing up her business with the man and instead she stepped to her brother's side and out of Raewynne's path. The cloak held close by Malavai did not escape notice in the process. The elder sibling offered up a quiet thanks, but otherwise let her peace hold for a time.

Bard had never been a patient man. In his youth, he'd been quick to act, bold and reckless. Over the years, he had tempered that hot-headed nature, and learned to control himself, but his loathing of inaction still revealed itself in other, smaller ways. In this case, while waiting for Wynne and Lady Eventine to return, his fingers drummed quietly against the rough wooden surface of the table. He'd pulled up a chair to replace the one he'd claimed, and eventually got up to fetch the whistling tea pot. Dried black tea leaves were added to the pot, and he brought it out to the table to steep and cool, along with four wooden mugs, polished and clean.

When the two women returned, Bard as pouring the tea into the mugs, one set before each seat. His gaze drifted to the door as it creamed open, and he set the kettle down. He still felt terrible about delaying Gwyneth's business with he and Wynne's issues, but h needed this. Even if she decided she never wanted to see Bard again in her life, he needed to know that he had at least made an effort to repair the damages his 'death' had caused. That was how he thought anyways, but when he set eyes on Wynne once more, he found himself swallowing hard and trying to resist the urge to babble like an idiot. He glanced at the packet of letters on the table, one for each month that he'd been apart from her. He knew they couldn't make up for his failing to come back to Wynne, but at least she'd know he had tried.

When the ladies came back to the table, Bard re-seated himself and collected one of the warm mugs of tea, drinking slowly. Gwyn was standing off to the side with Malavai, and it soon became clear that he and Wynne would need to come to some kind of a resolution before business would resume. He pushed the packet of letters across the table, leaving them resting before Wynne with a somber look on his face, his eyes rising up to meet hers once more. "Don't read them now...just, know that I didn't forget you Wynne. I tried to contact you, I just kept failing."

Finished with gathering all the orders of customers, Kuerina managed to get one of the other tavern girls to take all the orders as the young girl snuck off back towards the group of people about Bard. She took to a nearby table, tugging at the damp rag under the strap of her apron and began to 'wash' the table.

In truth, she was gathering information, and if it were the right kind of information, Kuerina could get a pretty penny and possibly find a way out of the stink infested captial. For now, she'd just assume the dim witted barmaid. It was an act she was quite good at.

His sister's hesitancy to regroup at the table meant one thing: she wanted Raewynne to converse with Bard, alone. He could tell as much when she strode up to him and stayed near, lingered close. Malavai handed Gwyn her coat, which she offered thanks, but glanced at her momentarily. He could only assume that whatever was said outside or done helped the situation -- least, she managed to make Wynne come back. His sapphire oculars quickly glanced his sister over, making sure she was fine. He came to the conclusion that Wynne wouldn't harm his sibling -- well, he knew she wouldn't. He was relieved to have figured as much. His only concern was the welfare of his dearest and closest friend, but like his sister, he wouldn't pry. The letters on the table signaled that Bard wanted to address the issue then and there, and if he didn't, he wouldn't have made the effort to bring them down. Matters of love were often best solved privately, so he made no effort to listen or get involved -- lest his eyes wander and catch something disturbing. Malavai, for now, remained on stand-by. His eyes roamed the room, stance erect, arms resting by his sides. Only thing he could do now was patiently wait.

Something was off, something didn't sit well with her. Glancing back at Gwyneth and Malavai, she wondered why they weren't moving. Was something wrong? Honey-irises momentarily pinned on the siblings, she then deduced why they didn't start motion -- the two wanted to give Bard and Wynne some privacy. How the thought made her heart sank; how it made her unsteady again. Worry was etched in her eyes, but she wouldn't let it reach her visage -- she wouldn't let anyone visibly know, wouldn't let them figure it out so easily. As her head aligned with the direction her body stood, those light eyes fell in path with Bard's own, she felt guilty. There was pain evident in his eyes, his face just seemed troubled. It was as if he wanted to just mend the situation and return to what the two once were. Of course that made her feel remorseful, especially how she reacted earlier. She should have never laughed at him like that, tossed him away and pushed him aside like he meant nothing. Rae found herself rubbing the nape of her neck, before the same hand pinched the skin between her thin, neat brows -- a nervous and stressed tick that Bard was surely familiar with. It was a fleeting gesture, gone as quickly as it came.

Her eyes didn't linger against his gaze, no. She found her eyes trailing his arm, noticing he pushed something across the table at her. What was it? Her eyes widened, inquiry answered upon observation. Letters? It dawned upon her, heart thudding so hard, she almost thought it was going to explode from her chest -- and his words confirmed it. "Don't read them now... just, know that I didn't forget you Wynne. I tried to contact you, I just kept failing." Inhaling sharply, eyes surveying the room in a quick fashion -- as if to see how private she could make things -- Raewynne found herself paranoid to express her feelings, to so openly profess her thoughts; but she was quiet about it, not wanting honed ears to listen, to butt in. Surely the sounds of other patrons would help muffle her soft words? "Bard, I..." She took a moment to collect her words, a subtle frown etched onto her lips. "...I want you to know that I'm sorry for before..." There was so much to say, honestly... she didn't know where to begin. She didn't feel comfortable discussing so much of their affairs, here; she wanted privacy, a place to speak with him without prying eyes. She was a wary, cautious person; it was bad enough there were a few onlookers of the scene unfolding. Wynne was afraid that this encounter would come to bite her in the arse eventually -- or someone else she cared about. So, with a deep sigh, her voice still low, she'd ask, "Can we meet later?" Her face seemed bleak, as if a mirror of Bard's own -- her eyes pinned on his, she'd whisper, so that only he could hear. "Please...?" She gauged his reaction, fingers moving to collect the letters rested upon the surface of the table. And, tightly, she held them in her grasp.

The focus of unneeded senses shifted to the tip of Gwyneth's delicate nose. Her eyes closed and ears deafened in deference as she inhaled the scent of fresh tea still simmering in a slow brew within individual cups. Memories tied intimately to the alluringly subtle aroma played through her mind in hazy flashes.

A flame of warmth fanned by halcyon days long since gone crept across Gwyneth's porcelain skin. She clutched at the bundle of soft hide and fur fashioned into the latest fashion which Malavai had returned to her and let her eyes draw away from the floor where they had focused in her fleeting reverie. They came back to rest on the woman she had escorted inside once more and the man that she had come to see. Gwyneth shared the smallest of smiles with herself as she gauged what she could from snippets of soft words and shifting expressions.

Knots of love and anger, pain and relief, regret and joy, these things had yet to be untangled. With scant knowledge of what had happened, Gwyneth knew not how long it would take to repair what had been damaged, but she found herself hoping the two could be happy with one another once more. After all, hope was one of the few things she had left that held real value for her. So it was that the widowed matriarch often found herself enamored with any potential romances of those around her. For one to involve a dear friend of her brother and a man she had known for years, well, Gwyneth dearly wanted things to work out between them.

Bard remembered Wynne's need for privacy all too well. In his rush to try and mend things, he'd pushed those concerns off to the side. It had been necessary, but now that he knew she wasn't going to run off and leave him alone with his regrets, he was willing to wait until such a time when they'd be able to finish this conversation in the privacy that, admittedly, Bard enjoyed. Bard nodded at her words and sipped his tea. Even if things couldn't go back to the way they were, making sure Wynne knew he was alive, that he hadn't abandoned her, was better than living with the knowledge that she hated and resented him. The failure at Pinemarsh still weighed on Bard's shoulders, but his posture seemed to straighten a bit as her willingness to hear him out lifted another, heavier burden from his shoulders. Bard didn't blame her for her reaction, he'd expected worse. "We will." He said, fixing her gaze with his own. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, seeing the way her eyes conveyed everything she wanted to say but wouldn't. "We'll talk soon."

That talk, however, would not happen until Gwyneth got her business with Bard out of the way. Turning his attention to the Eventine siblings, he jerked a hand in their direction, beckoning them to retake their seats. "So why are you looking for me, Gwyn?" He asked as she approached, concerned. While much of who Bard was remained the same as it had when he'd left Southpeak all those years ago, much more had changed. He still called Gwyneth by name, out of respect for the friendship they'd developed, but he knew she was here as a representative of his home town, and she deserved his attention and focus for that. "If you're here to tell me about my parents, I already know." Alrik and Astrid had passed on while Bard was recovering from his injuries, another scar he'd have to work on closing before long. "Gods above, the Tavern didn't burn down did it?" He didn't know if he could handle that news, that his childhood home was now irrevocably gone.

"Shae" continued her cleaning, bouncing to different tables that grew empty. Even while being out of earshot, Kuerina studied the body language of Bard and his companions with quick and few glances. The air was tense, so much so, she could probably cut the air with one of the knives she stashed in the pouch of her apron. She didn't trust these strangers, then again, she never trusted anyone. She always kept to herself, never let anyone in so she was never hurt. The only creature to get some form of affection was her avain pet, an oddity like herself.

Gathering up the dishes, if they could even be called that, Kuerina hooked her fingers under the bottom most plate and hefted the pile up, leaning them against her petite frame as she trundled off to the kitchen to deliver them to the poor maid who was tasked to clean the this night.

Returning back to her cleaning in the main dining hall, Kuerina caught a few words Bard spoke to the regal looking woman. Something about a tavern. Was there another tavern That Bard actually owned? If so, Kuerina had to make sure she "worked" there. She'd be back on the streets of that brute of a man left.

That soft smile, his longing gaze; it wasn't difficult to tell that Bard was accepting of the thought, the idea of meeting later to discuss their issues of separation and such. The two had a lot to disclose, but even Bard didn't want to press concerns in the vicinity of a tavern -- one could never tell who lurked the premises; some of fouler, creepier folk or those out to take a hit; predators just waiting for a good opening, anticipating a weak-spot. But, the discussion would be prolonged. The time of business was now.

Clasping the letters in her hand, she'd find it easier to place them inside the pocket of her pants. She separated them all equally so the distribution wouldn't weigh all to one side, but the bulkiness was apparent in her trousers. For now, she settled into the seat near the fireplace, the one juxtaposition of Bard. The cold had lingered within the depths of her soul, the comforting warmth of the fireplace she wanted to welcome, despite before. In a way, maybe it was foreshadowing of her icy heart thawing ever-so slowly. But, time would only tell if her wounds would be mended, would be lovingly healed.

Gripping the tea within both of her slender, dainty hands, Rae would bring the cup up to her lips -- steam gently rolling upon her cold face. She took a sip after testing the temperature, not wishing to burn the inside of her maw and couldn't help the 'mmm' that reverberated against her throat. The tea was delicious, just what she needed. As she nestled into the situation, more or less, Raewynne took a silent, listener approach. It wasn't her business to discuss, after all; so she'd pay her best attention, gazing back and forth between the present company and the movements of others stationed within the tavern. Her ears perked at the mention of Bard's parents -- she didn't know them, never met them, but was at least knowledgeable of their names... the way he stated his words, she could only wonder... Were they dead? Sighing softly, she just looked at him, sorrow in the form of a lackluster gleam of her visual orbs gazing onto the older man. And a tavern? She could express her condolences, but figured later was a more appropriate time -- Raewynne would still just watch and listen, as she was usually prone to do.

Malavai also didn't utter much, but sat until his sister would find a seat. He was a gentleman, his formal etiquette expressed by this mannerism. And, well, it was his sister -- he'd always be kind to her, whereas some didn't have the pleasure of knowing him on a nicer standpoint. Unlike Wynne, he'd let his tea cool off. He wasn't cold, considering his coat now clung to his frame and he never trekked outdoors after the two women. He didn't think it was his business to pry into the affairs of Bard regarding his parents -- though he could have assumed much, he remained quiet, like his counterpart. It wasn't his place, not quite so. Occasionally, he caught the gaze of his partner-in-crime, and he was assessing the nature of her expressions. She seemed fine, but perhaps he'd ask later. Now was not the time for his words to flow from his mouth, least that's how he felt, at the moment. And, well, he'd have to reconnect with his sister at a later convenience.