Topic: After the Fireworks

Hudson Fraiser

Date: 2008-06-22 15:42 EST
As the shelter of the trees put distance between them and the crowd in the Southern Glen, Hudson looked over at Sylvia again, with a question in his gaze; Aidan seemed half-asleep on his feet, dragging them and walking almost as slowly as Hudson.

Sylvia looked over at the pair, one not much better off than the other. The lights of the city could be seen, but they only showed that it was some ways to go. Shifting Beata to one side, she moved to gather up Aidan on the other hip. "Cian, walk with Master Hudson, please." Aidan's head plunked down to her shoulder. Beata was curled up, and Cian was too tired to question, but when to take up Aidan's place.

This activity did not increase the speed, but at least she did not have to worry about Aidan dragging Hudson down with him and dislocating another knee.

At the trade of Cian's hand for Aidan's, Hudson looked over to Sylvia again, with a slight frown that she carried both children - not disapproval, but disappointment that his injury kept him from aiding her. "Ye be strong, leannan." And something in his voice referred not only to physical strength at that comment. "What were ye starting tae ask, before?"

She smiled and looked over to him. "They aren't so heavy, though, Aidan certainly is getting that way." There was a hint of being flattered at what she felt he also might have meant, but when he prompted again for the question she asked, the sigh broke free in a hesitant catch. "I just wanted to know if you would need me tonight. I could not think of a way to say it, and... I just mean if you need my company while the hardships of the day are so near. Sometimes," she paused, how well she knew this next truth, "sometimes an empty room can make things so...hard to face."

Looking ahead to the lights of the city, he answered quietly while Cian's hand swung loosely in his own. "Aye, ye be right in that. Th' company o' ye and th' children - oh, ye ha'e nae idea, leannan, how I needed tae see ye all taenight." He paused then, in the road, and leaned for a moment more heavily on the cane before resuming the slow pace. When he resumed speaking, his voice was low. "Would ye stay wi' me then, through th' dark o' th' night? For if ye'd ha'e th' strength o' that, I'd be grateful indeed. I dinnae ken how well I'd face it alone."

There was not pause in her step, no hesitation in her voice though it fell soft as starlight. "I will stay." She shifted Aidan some who was sliding down her side. A glance over the soft, black curls of her daughter's sleeping head to look at Hudson. The soft light of a moon just less than full caught the spartan hints of silver in his hair, as if they were uncertain in their own presence in the dark neighboring hair. "What would be best? Your home?" She wondered where the children would sleep or if she should take them all the way to Yearling Brook and then come back on her own.

"If I'm tae sleep easy there again - if ye dinnae mind. Th' bairns would fit well enow on th' bed. But if ye'd tae ha'e them home, I'll gang wi' ye tae Yearling Brook." Trailing just a bit behind her as he was, he watched her, seeing the moonlight wash out colors to leave everything in shades of black, gray and silver; the planes of her face seemed sharp-cut in the light. "Or if ye think 'twould cause tae much comment, I'll wait on ye. 'Tis ye who does th' favor for me, leannan."

"No," she said swiftly, "if you think there is room for the children to sleep well, that was my only concern. Where will you sleep?" She was perplexed. Of course, not knowing what furniture he had in the house, and he had said there were changes, perhaps he had a guest bed that would suit the children outside of his own. "We must make sure you get proper rest, too, or that leg will never get better." With that mention, she checked on him again to be sure not only that he was still walking well, but that Cian was not becoming a threat to their safety.

It gave her some comfort to see the streets and walls of the city coming close. It was not too much further now. "I will send the carriage on to Yearling Brook with a message so there is no worry." It was a prudent explanation.

"Th' other half o' that be where will ye? Th' guest room will dae for ye, and th' couch Sianna talked me intae purchasing will dae well enow for me, as it has been. Th' stairs be beyond my wish tae tackle, some nights. But aye, 'tis most likely wise tae send ahead th' message afore yer guards start tae fraitching." Cian's feet were dragging, and Hudson gave the boy's hand a light squeeze. Under other circumstances, he would simply have picked the lad up. It was a frustration. His own pace was unchanged, but tight lines were forming around his eyes, betraying growing pain at that. Still he pushed, because to slow would only draw out the ache for longer. He felt a sharp bit of relief that his home was so close to the southern gate of the city - and if Sylvia had used the livery he suspected she had, it was on the way.

"The couch?" She was careful not to raise her voice too sharply to decry that situation. "Great blazing pyres, Hudson, we could have seen that a bed moved downstairs for you." She noticed the pain ghosting at the corners of his eyes. "Maybe you should wait here with the children, and I will go ahead to get the carriage. Only," as they reached the walls. It was not far now, "well, it is not far, can you make it?" She shifted both children again. They were getting heavy now with the walk, her shoulders aching, and her body was starting to sweat with the extra heat the children were pouring into her.

Her disapproval of the couch situation was enough to quirk a small smile to the corners of his mouth. "Well, 'tis a verra comfortable couch, ye ken. Aye, I'll dae well enow tae make it, and there be sommat cool tae drink when we arrive." He could hardly miss the strain she was under with carrying the children, and again frustration bit sharply. He didn't let it show as he paused by a livery and leant heavily on his cane. "And be this th' place ye left yer carriage?" Cian, walking automatically, stumbled on another two steps before he realized they had paused and leaned back against Hudson's good leg.

Hudson Fraiser

Date: 2008-06-22 15:43 EST
"Aye," she breathed out, and walked inside to find her driver. The team was ready, they had heard the end of the fireworks and hitched them up in anticipation of her arrival. "Leannan?" She came back to the doorway, "it may not be further on, but my arms cannot take it. They will take us the rest of the short way to your home." Without allowing him to argue, she turned back to set first Aidan up on a seat where he fell over against the side of the carriage and then up with Beata in her arms to keep her comfortable and leaned back with a sigh. The carriage was not overly ostentatious, but comfortable and well appointed with soft cushioned seats and dark silken lining of the insides.

"I think I be glad tae hear ye say that." Simple the answer, but heartfelt. Hudson helped Cian into the carriage, where the boy promptly leaned against the remaining wall, and then he tackled climbing up in turn - a more difficult process, but finally managed. With his bound leg angled to one side, the carriage rolled out on its short journey. "I'll hope ye dinnae think th' place as bare as before, mo bran, but in any case when we arrive, th' bedrooms be up th' stairs, wi' mine for th' bairns on th' left. They'll ha'e tae ha'e mine for th' larger size o' th? bed and th' three o' them - th' guest bedroom for ye be on th' right."

She watched him struggle into the carriage, torn between helping him and letting him manage on his own without hurting his pride. That he was so swift at it before she could properly make up her mind, set her heart at ease but only in the smallest measure. "Thank you, Hudson."

Her arms were able to recover, only needing to barely support Beata in staying where she was as the carriage made its gently rocking way down the road and drew to a halt at the door of Hudson's home. The driver hopped down to unlatch the door and offered an arm to assist Hudson down, not unlike the assistance he would offer the lady in her own turn.

"There be nae need for thanks, leannan." As they arrived and the driver offered his arm, Hudson grimaced but took the assistance - and was glad for it a moment later when his knee almost buckled despite the bindings. Setting his cane, he transferred his weight from the driver to the cane and then made his way over to the front door, pulling the key from his sporran as he did so. This time, the lamp kept burning in the hallway had not gone out. "I'll ha'e tae heat water for th' medicine my sister insists I use - will ye want tea, caraid, or sommat cool tae drink?" He was not going to acknowledge that near fall, leaning on his cane as he unlocked the door.

The driver had been sure to be subtle in steadying the man, even to the point of setting himself between him and Sylvia's sight. She had no knowledge of the event, handing down Cian who managed to near sleep walk his way towards the door, followed by Aidan whom the driver kept hold until she was down and then offered him over at her insistence. The weight not so bad knowing that it would not be much longer. "I think I will make do with just some water once I have the children in bed."

The roll of the carriage away left them standing on the stoop for just the moment that it took to unlock the door. Cian did not care for the moment that Hudson was master of the house and as a guest he should wait. He heard the click of the door opening and just walked inside and up the steps as if he were in his own home at Yearling Brook. It was unfortunate he was anticipating a longer hall way at the top of the stairs and was suddenly confused into not knowing where to go and started back down the stairs. "No, Cian, dearest, go back up." And he did. With her knee she nudged him towards the room to the left.

Watching them and Cian's blind hesitation, he chuckled quietly and then picked up the long taper kept by the door, lighting it at the lamp so that he could light the rest of the lamps on his way down the hall toward the kitchen. Up the stairs he could hear the small motions that had to be Sylvia settling the children into bed, and the shadow that had been pressing close shivered and withdrew slightly. In the kitchen, one-handed, he pulled down a glass and filled it with cold water, and then set a kettle to boiling; the medicines for his knee were already set out - he had anticipated needing them.

The boys were undressed except their shirts and put into bed, but Beata was an entirely different matter. She took the little girl into the other room, and was glad to find a sitting chair in there as well. One hand lifted the chair to set its back against the bed as a makeshift railing. Beata was not known to roll much, but she hoped if she had a mind, the presence of the chair would keep her from rolling out. The boys were much livelier sleepers, and Beata would be in the way of their rest.

It was the second trial with Beata that dropped Sylvia's head, chin to chest with a disheartened sigh. Sylvia drew in a long, deep breath and then turned to sprint halfway down the steps. "Leannan? I have a favor to ask of you. I need either a handtowel to sacrifice to a dangerous mission, or a spare shirt of yours for a less dangerous mission."

Puzzlement cleared away at the memory of nieces and nephews, and there was a smile in his voice as he called back the answer while still trying to be quiet so as not to disturb the children. "There be handtowels in th' linen closet in th' hallway, mo croidhe, and ye may ha'e as many o' my shirts as ye need - they be hanging in th' wardrobe in my bedroom."

Considering the request, he paused in setting up a bowl for his poultice to soak up the hot water in, and called up again. ?Ye be free tae take any such as ye wish tae sleep in yer own self, leannan, or tae be more comfortable.? It was a small enough offer, and he poured the hot water from the kettle over the poultice before carrying the bowl carefully back to the table. Only then did he take a seat with a quiet sigh of relief of the removal of weight.

"I am so sorry, and thank you." She dashed back up the steps; she hated the thought of using one of his handtowels to serve as Beata's nappy, so she sought out the wardrobe of his bedroom and a shirt there. It would be a bit overlarge, but better that then the cringing thought of what Beata's body requirements would do to his towels.

She went back to the bedroom and took off her bodice and shirt, and pulled his shirt over her head, then changed out her shirt for Beata's used nappy, pinning it in place and then setting the little girl to sleep. The soiled nappy was a new problem, and she took it with her to rinse out in the necessary room where the boys had taken care of their own business earlier. Washing clean and taking a moment to breathe, she tugged on the borrowed shirt and went back downstairs in search of Hudson and the desperately needed glass of water.

Hudson Fraiser

Date: 2008-06-22 15:44 EST
"Nae tae worry." But he didn't call that, simply said it into the quiet kitchen, and then began unwrapping the binding around his leg. As he had suspected, the knee was swelling again; he took the hot poultice with its sharp medicinal scent and laid it over the area of worst damage. When Sylvia reappeared, he nodded in the direction of the glass of cold water on the counter. "There ye be - what did ye dae wi' yer own shirt?" He had fully expected her to use the handtowel as a replacement for Beata's soiled cloths. Instead she was in one of his shirts, and its fit - loose and long on him - was enough to make him smile a bit.

"It is serving a purpose other than to clothe my body. I couldn't make your handtowels suffer so on further reflection. You did say I could use one, yes?" But she did not wait for his answer as she approached and crouched down to examine his knee, only lifting away the poultice for the barest moment. "Ach, dearest, I should have gone ahead to get a carriage instead of having you walk that whole way." The much needed glass of water forgotten. "Is there something I can do to be of some help to you?"

"Aye, ye be welcome tae th' shirt, but I'd ha'e rather ye sacrificed a towel than yer own shirt. Well, sae it be." He watched the curve of her head, and the raven-wing fall of hair that glinted with gold highlights and blue shadows in the lamplight. "As for th' help - 'tis nae sommat I couldnae dae, but I wouldnae say nae tae th' aid, either. But ye've time for yer water first. After this poultice cools, I ha'e sommat that has tae be rubbed in, and deep, tae keep th' tendons from stiffening tae much." He smiled a bit and shrugged one shoulder. "If it be sommat ye'd rather nae dae, 'tis nae a trouble tae dae it myself."

"Of course I will. I know well the aches of a body much abused. Did we not speak of the aches of hands early on in our first meetings?" She smiled and reached for her glass of water to take a deep drink, her eyes closed at the quenching of the thirst. In half the glass consumed, eyes slowly reopened and she finally stopped to take a breath. The glass set down, she sat in a chair nearby. Heels of her hands rubbed harsh against her closed eyes.

A lock of hair escaped past her shoulder to tickle her cheek, and she reached back to make quick work of a hasty braid that would keep it back from her face. When she looked back to him, she studied the lines around his eyes.

The statement held much in its simple words. "It will be near for some time, I think." The shadows, she meant, the possibilities and questions that pressed even on her and could not fathom how the hung about him.

A scarred hand ran back through his hair, and again his expression and the lines around his eyes tightened. "Aye, and I think ye be right." He looked across at her then, with black eyes hidden in shadow, and spoke quietly. "But nae only for me, and nae only for taeday's events. But th' storm will be weathered, leannan." Leaning forward, he offered her his right hand, while his left balanced the poultice through the shift of motion. He did not know the date of her husband's passing, but he knew it drew near; if there were shadows and questions for him, they must be just as close or closer for her.

A steady smile, born out of his confident though quiet words touched upon her lips. Her hand reached to his, fingers curled about the edge of the scared palm. The feel of his hand, her thumb tracing over the pulse that fluttered strong beneath his skin, unwound the twisting inside her by a small but heartening measure. "I hope we have not set back your recovery too long for such a small thing as an ice cream social and fireworks. Though, glad I am that you came since you said it did you good, but next time, let us pay more mind to the good of your body as well."

"Nae, ye didnae dae anything tae set me back - 'twas all o' my own will, aye? And nae small thing tae gae tae, nae taenight. Besides, I'd given ye my word." His fingers closed over hers gently before he tested the heat of the poultice and lifted it, setting it into the bowl and that aside. "Ye ha'e such a care o' me, leannan, and I dinnae ha'e th' chance tae dae th' same for ye. What would ease ye, as ye ease me?"

"You being well would ease me." She teased and standing she searched around for the liniments he spoke of before to prepare to tend to his knee. "Besides, what do you mean the chance to do the same for me?" A suspicious looking tin drew her eye, and she went to investigate if it was what she needed.

A nod of his head was indication that she had found the correct container as he tried to find words to explain more clearly what he meant. "It seems more often I tell ye my troubles, or turn tae ye. Ye be strong, mo chroidhe, in yer self, and I dinnae question that. But I be here for ye as well, if ye'd share th' burthen." His accent had grown deeper as he spoke, as he tried to wrestle unwieldy and half-formed thoughts into words.

"I," she stopped and went to kneel down by his leg, examining the knee once again with the poultice removed. She looked up at him, licked her lips and started once more, "I do not often share my troubles with others." She looked away, setting the open tin on the table and dipped two fingers in to scoop some of the liniment up, rubbing the fingers together with those of the opposite hand to warm the ointment. On opposite sides of the knee, she placed her fingers and began the treatment being sensitive to twitches of pain, the way the ligaments and muscles moved beneath her hands. "I don't know how to share them. Ask me what you want to know."

There were twitches, involuntary flinches of muscle that he stilled as best he was able. After a controlled breath in, he nodded, while his fingers dug into the edge of the chair to restrain any more motion. "If ye dinnae share th' troubles, how can they be lightened?" Another grimace broke his words before he continued. "When I told ye o' th' odd things yesterday, ye turned away - ye hid sommat and didnae speak on it. What did ye see, mo bran, that ye didnae wish tae think on then?"

Hudson Fraiser

Date: 2008-06-22 15:45 EST
"So many of my troubles those closest to me know." Realizing how that might have sounded, she closed her eyes and hung her head before she corrected. "I just mean that it is rare to need to share them." Her fingers stopped at his question, though she was not done. He had said the liniment needed to be worked in deep. To think on her answer, how to start it, she took up more of the concoction and began afresh, moving in the line of his joints.

"I have been seeing unusual things as well. It was not the time to mention it." Thumbs drew along the ridges of his knee, the muscled leg at least showed good support for the joint to heal well. "I had seen my children." She announced without formality and continued to work. It helped to separate herself from the moment. It was here, with him, aiding him, and not there with those faces. "They were older, young adults. And," she paused again for the beat of a breath taken, "sad."

"Ahhh." The breath could have been understanding, could have simply been reaction to the touch of her fingers working in the liniment. Thinking over what she had said, there was something she had not mentioned. "Did they see ye?" She was defter at working in the liniment than he was, and though she worked it in well and deeply, it did not cause as much pain as when he did it for himself. "Did they ken ye?"

"They saw me. I do not think they knew me. I do not remember. I just remember their faces. I," spoken with some shame, "collapsed and my guard took me away before I could speak with them." She closed the tin and stood in search for fresh bandages, her hand closing over the old ones that bound his leg. Her back to him, she pressed hard against the counter, using it to help her stay straight. "It is always so," her voice a quaking whisper. "I can't get to them. In my dreams. I see them but I can't reach them." Her fingers started to fold into her palms, one gripping the bindings hard, the other imprinting short nails unto the tender skin. "I see they are sad and I cannot find out why or help them."

With his leg unbound he could stand more easily, could limp the short distance that separated them - and damned to the pain of it, he did so. His hands lifted, seeking to rest on her shoulders, and there was nothing he could think to say or to do but to be present. Nothing to do but listen, and offer silently to hold her, to support her.

She lifted her head as he placed his hands upon her shoulders. "Ewan worries someone is trying to drive me mad." It was a tinny sort of laugh, and she shook her head sharply. "Blazing pyres," cursing herself as she realized he was standing. "Hudson, your knee." She fretted turning and, finding he was still close, froze. It was barely spoken. "You need to take care."

A touch of her own sorrowed confusion danced in her eyes, and she lowered her head, resting her forehead against his chest. It was the scent of him, the masculine warmth, that drew out the tear a quick back of a hand brushed away. Her will defied any more to escape, but she did not raise her head until guilt churned up its demands. "You should sit. I need to bind your knee again. Do you have fresh cloths for that?"

When she turned against him, his arms went around her back and held her close; when she pulled back he loosened his grip but did not release her entirely. "Ye be nae mad, nae more than I be. I dinnae what be causing th' strangeness about here o' late, but what ye saw - it be tae much like my own experience. There be sommat related about them. It be naught on ye, mo croidhe." His voice was low and rough as he tried to imprint the sincerity of that upon her. A pause and then he nodded and bent his head to kiss her forehead gently. "Nae on ye at all." What he didn't do was release her to seek out the chair again, not yet, nor answer her question about the fresh bindings.

Such tender comfort as she has not had in near a year, only once stolen before. She wanted to sink into his arms and the promised strength there. To let go for awhile and rely on another. Her eyes closed to the touch of his lips feeling so soft and warm on her forehead. Reluctant to open them, it was a slow blink open to closed until she was confident she could look him in the eyes and not linger upon those lips. "Sit, leannan, let me tend you while I can."

Slow and reluctant to release her, he finally touched his hand to her cheek - and what had seemed strange earlier in the day with the fetch of Moira felt so right now that without thinking, he bent his head and sought to kiss her. And then, when the sense came back to his mind, he finally let her go and turned to cross limpingly back to the seat he had abandoned so hastily. "Th' fresh bandages be just above where th' liniment was stored, in th' cupboard there." Seeking refuge in normalcy and almost afraid to see her reaction to his bold and unexpected move.

She trembled, once, the touch of his mouth against hers felt in some deep part of her like the shy fright of her first kiss and in other ways, so natural. It was another stolen moment, perfected by the mind criss-crossing thoughts and fears. Just the tender, brief brush of lips, before he drew away and she did likewise. She nodded, taking up the tin to place it back where it belonged. Washing her hands of the remaining liniment before she claimed the fresh bandages. In a completed circle, turning to stand near him, fingers ran along the back of his knee and around to the front to be certain all was in order before she began the sure and quick binding. Years past between mendings had not lost her skill at tending hurts. It was easy to drop into that methodical sensibility, but when the binding was done, he was still there, the shadow of that kiss lingered upon her lips.

She offered her hand to help him up. "Let me help you to your rest."

((Edited & Adapted from Live Play))