Some goodbyes felt like they took ongoing tolls. Long after the person was out of sight. Left behind, or gone away on the horizon. Or simply parted ways from. In bad blood, or in the best of circumstances.
Ryheric knew it was more than just a person, or even two people, or three. It was more than fifty.
It was hundreds. What had happened to the people at the Hamlet was a weight for him to carry. The weight went deeper, and further back. Some memories were not yet safe to revisit.
"Ask yourself this - yourself, the answer is not for me but for you. Is there any circumstance in which you will accept what you need without giving twice as much in return to try to feel worthy of it?"
The loss of Tarsorel was still felt, especially by Ryheric, but life carried on. It brought with it stark perspective and realisations. Morale rebuilt like new growth in spring among his companions.
It no longer felt right to travel to Rohan. He understood the needs of his new group, and instead of simply carrying on like the ignorant dictators of old, Ry knew he needed to bend and adapt.
Thus, he severely swerved the path and purpose of his company. They were not going to Rohan, anymore. Instead, they were doing something entirely different. Building huts; building houses. Making safe a place where they could have that elusive thing Ry never believed was his to have; a home.
A site had been chosen, and re-chosen. A cool room had been dug to store food. Atharann was finishing the door for it, now that Ryheric had returned from Bree.
He had brought with him supplies and of course, the all-important keg of booze.
He, Aeldiet, Winnie and Emmie spent most of the night of his return, drinking. And finally laughing again. Nothing more to it. He had missed nights like these... All they were missing now was a good fire!
Reviadir had helped him. Not exactly more than any other person, but more like a cumulation. In Winnie, he had been prepared with the information he needed to talk about his night terrors. The lavender had not worked to help his sleep.
In Bryn, Laney, Sicarra and Emmie, he learned the severe contrast between what troubles there were in his life, and what the more peaceful folk saw as troubling. In Brynleigh he learned how feeling right transferred, more seamlessly than he knew, into social etiquette. Words, manners, safety and conformity.
In a stranger - a middle aged Bree-woman from the slums, he learned to view these dreams not as a sickness, or a shame. But like a battle. He should not back out, he should not avoid confronting them. Nor could he put it off any longer.
Then came Reviadir; who gave the gift to Ryheric that most resonated. The simple answer he wished he had heard when these night-terrors first began:
"Find three things that ease you. Meditate upon one before you sleep. Truly focus. And above all, decide what Ryheric wants to be. You have sacrificed all for this next stage of your journey. Others are no longer a shield from yourself.
You have taken those strides, yes. But... a man of your position needs to truly know themselves. That is the next phase of your journey, Ryheric. To truly keep what comes next at bay, you need to know yourself. Including yes, those terrible deeds you have implied are a part of you. But so too is everything that has happened since. All those things you have learned. It's not about what others want. It's about what you want for yourself. Who does Ryheric wish to be?"
Ry frowned. Not in disagreement or in discomfort but because he hadn't really thought about that or decided it. The simple question threw sudden light on the fact he'd just assumed he would die on a sword and that is what he was 'for'.
That notion was tossed full into sudden question. Even more importantly, it brought into stark light such things he'd already had, but firmly dismissed as 'fantasy'. Things he was sure he could never have, never keep. What if that illusion broke? Perhaps Reviadir had finally fractured it.
"I want t'be the stream, but I also want t'be able t'keep some things for m'self."
.....
The journey was made, an understated yet sweet farewell was had with the Rohirric widow, Brynleigh. She had come, in the end, though they both had their pressing tasks. It was more than enough; he knew he was lucky to see her at all. But twice? His heart was warmed even as he left with the nervous ex-bandit-girl on the shepherd's mare.
Once he returned, another recklessly abrupt decision was made. No more dancing around, no more recluse. No more dwelling on Tarsorel or what had been lost.
They had a new adversary, and Ryheric called them all together, hungover as he, Aeldiet, Winnie and Emmie were the next morning, to announce what would be The Great Eel Hunt.
They would retrieve Morrant's bones from the belly of the great eel, and bury Morrant's remains in the earth where he belonged.
Eirik roared, Aerluinil lit a fire and those grey eyes met Ry's own. Winnie looked happier than she had looked in many, many months despite the fear of what was to come. She had laughed, drank, danced. Ryheric presented Emmie with her new more powerful bow; she had diligently worked past the rabbit bow.
Even Bryn gave a faint smile, at the end, and Aeldiet rose to challenges in play and adversity.
This hunt was going to be for his entire clan, and it would be a deed worthy of tales by the fireside for years to come.
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Growing Roots
Submitted by Ryheric on April 24th, 2023
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