brand new colony

Gahereth and Lianor have been married for almost a year and a half before they're finally able to make the trip to Manassah. Gahereth actually seems excited about the trip in the weeks leading up to their departure, telling Lianor all about the house and the planet and his sister, talking even more than he usually does (which is a lot) and telling her stories as they lie in bed at night.

They touch down in the big spaceport, and as they make the trip from the Temple Bay docks out into the countryside, Gahereth is busy pointing things out. As they come up to the estate, though, he gets a little quieter -- a lifetime of training kicking in, maybe -- and though he still looks happy enough to be there, it's apparent from the moment they step out of the hired transport that the Lloyd household is one of discipline and rules, and not very much like life with the Sheas.

The beginnings of this visit go just like every other time one of her sons has brought his wife home to meet them: one of the staff gets their luggage in, and Gahereth gets the two of them settled in his old room; they're left to their own devices for several hours, and though the expectation of being dressed and ready for dinner at eight isn't a direction that either Anna or Aloth issue, Gahereth is suddenly weirdly particular about their getting ready and being at the table on time. Dinner goes as most family dinners go, which is to say it's quiet, with polite conversation and a degree of formality that Lianor was probably not expecting.

After dinner, Aloth takes Gahereth back to his office for a debriefing of what things are like on New Britain, and Anna shows Lianor to one of the cozy little parlour rooms she's had done up now that the boys are all away. Waiting for them is a tray of sweets and a tea service; Anna settles into one of the chairs with the same poised, quiet air that she's had all evening.

As she's pouring the tea, she says, "So, Lianor, tell me more about you."

It's been a good year for them. The Shea business is flourishing, and the estate is getting bigger as Mr. Shea buys more of the surrounding land parcels from the government in Camallate. Gahereth and Lianor have been living in Shea's house since they're marriage, but for their first anniversary he throws a party for them and announces that he's furnished one of the old barns for them.

So after the party they start moving their things in, and by the time dusk falls on the estate the barn is beginning to look a lot like home.

When the last of the boxes has been unpacked Lianor throws herself down on the sofa, beaming.

"It's so big! Look at all this space we got! Lord, it's nice."

There hasn't been rain for two months, and Lianor is standing in the dust of the graveyard outside Til Tomeil, looking at the holo marker they set up for Geffreyn.

The reddish dust has already turned the hem of her white dress, and despite the heat she's hugging his arms, her hair blowing all around her face. Geffreyn, dead. Geffreyn, and next two him in two much smaller graves Aguerisse and Gwyngalet, Gwalchmai's older sons; the youngest, Gwidon, was too young to follow his uncle and brothers. The oldest grave is Gwalchmai's wife, who died a few years ago of a fever, and Lianor can't help thinking that it might be a mercy, to die before seeing your sons killed.

Gwidon is with Medraut and Lenomie and Melian; Gwalchmai's in no state to comfort a child right now.

She wipes her hand over her eyes and heads back to the Shea farm. It's not right to be away so long, not when her husband is home grieving. Twenty minutes later she's in front of the door, trying to straighten her hair and make sure her eyes are dry before she goes in. No sense in weeping when Gahereth needs her.

She takes a breath and opens the door.

"I'm home, darlin'."

It's been two weeks since Gadriet woke up. Two weeks since the truth came out. Almost a month that Anna's been dead.

Gahereth and Lianor had been in Camallate when it happened, by chance really. (He should've been in Bredigan, and he wasn't, and even though the reason he wasn't there was because he'd been asked to come to Camallate, Gahereth still can't escape the thought that he should have been there. And he wasn't.) He'd been with his brothers almost constantly since then, except for nights when he went back to his own room, and his own wife, and lay down with her; he didn't talk much, and he slept even less.

He followed his brothers, like he'd done all his life, and he knew they were right -- he was sure they were right, Gwalchmai always made sense and if he hadn't, Medraut would've put sense into him -- and then Gadriet woke up. And they'd been wrong.

Gahereth has, up to today, avoided the hospital altogether. The last few days, he's avoided all of his brothers. But last night, Lianor sat up with him, talking; she looked worn out, worried, and Gahereth guessed she had a right to be both. "You all've suffered enough already," she'd said, "You might feel better if you go see him."

So here he is. Perched on the edge of the visitor's chair in Gadriet's room. Quietly waiting for him to wake up.

Red is not really the best colour for Lianor's complexion, but she does look radiant to-day, in the crimson gown and headdress, with silk flowers woven into her long hair; Eluned is less striking, but then that's the whole point of the double wedding, to keep Eluned and Gadriet in the background. Given the way Lianor is glowing, it's not terribly difficult.

Mr. Shea weeps openly during the ceremony (both daughters married on the same day -- by Shea standards it's a miracle tailored to the clan). Afterward the monk ties their hands together with red ribbons.

Then it's the reception, and Gahereth and Lianor get to sit through all the toasts, of which there are nearly as many as guests, and then wine and food and dancing and incredibly loud music that goes on until nearly midnight before people start to trail off to their rooms. Gahereth is subjected to a fair number of winks and jabs with elbows and particularly unsubtle comments about deflowering his bride by departing guests, but eventually they manage to escape, and Lianor locks the door behind them with a giggle of relief.

"Oh, my Lord."

The last two weeks she's been cuffed to a pipe in the basement of the shed out in the middle of one of New Britain's wide, dry plains -- she doesn't know which one. The two men who cuffed her and blindfolded her and brought her here were careful, but not gentle, cautious of hurting her badly but not of hurting her.

Eluned will come get her, she tells herself, over and over. Eluned and Papa will come get her free.

But when help finally comes, it isn't her family. The two lawmen from Camallate are the Dragon's nephews, and perhaps she should feel cowed by their importance, but she doesn't. She's too tired for that. They shoot the men who took her, or at least one of them does, she doesn't know, she only saw the end of it when somebody uncuffed her and led her out in the light, blinding after all this time in the darkness.

Half of her is still afraid to trust them. She doesn't know them. One of them is rough, and swears and spits and reminds her too much of her captors. The other is quieter, but no less strange.

They travel as far as they can while the light holds, and then make camp. The men build a small fire and roast chunks of protein and boil coffee. Lianor eats a little, but her stomach is shrunk and cramped. The rough one stretches out in the sandy dirt and sleeps, and the other one stays up, his pistols beside him, watching the fire.

She lies down, but she doesn't sleep. She looks into the fire. She draws circles in the dirt with her fingertips and tries to shake the feeling that they're just waiting to tie her up again and leave her in some other dark hole. Finally she sits up and reaches for the coffee pot.