RP:The Were, the Bear and the Maiden Fair
Castle Venturil
Eboric rises from the bed, which is suitably large and fur-covered. Moving as silently as he can on bare feet, he crosses the room and dresses in simple woolen clothes, the trousers held up with Eidhur's swordbelt, and simple leather boots. With a grimace at the thought of the winter's bite, he takes his heavy bearskin cloak as well. With a last look toward the bed, he edges out the door, holding it carefully to lessen the sound of the latch. Turning, he walks quickly and quietly down the hallway, swiftly making his way to a side door leading to the courtyard. Through sidestreets and alleys, the disguised king makes his way out of his city, known only to his guards, who are well used to his nocturnal wanderings. He makes his way west toward the barrows, the newer mounds raised next to the city.
Raidh was born to the Riddarnir, who have lived among herds for centuries and developed in themselves the sharp instincts of creatures who eat and sleep in the wide open spaces, where there is nowhere to hide.. Thus, like the rest of her people, the shieldmaiden sleeps with one eyes open, so to speak. She listens to Eboric’s furtive movements, keeping her breathing slow and steady, until she hears the latch click behind him. Then, swift as she can move and still keep silence, Raidh throws clothes and boots on, grabs a dagger and follows the King. She’s had a feeling for some days now that he is hiding something, keeping something from her… As she flees after him into the dark now, on foot for the sake of silence, and because he may well be travelling where a horse could not, the girl’s mind mulls over various things which, in her severely limited experience, might cause a King to sneak about in his own Kingdom in the dead of night. None of them are good.
The Barrows
Eboric vanishes inside one of the grave mounds, its chambers still empty of the dead that will inevitably fill them. It is in a hidden compartment within the mound that the king stashes his clothes and weapons, rolling them all up in the cloak and concealing them within the rock. Thus bared, he ventures back out into the night air, turning his face upward to the rays of the moon, now nearly full.
Raidh’s imagination is taking her to some very strange and uncomfortable sort of places as she trails the King not toward to some brothel or gambling-house, not to the boudoir of someone else’s wife or an opium den, but to the barrows - which Raidh happens to know more about than any of those other things, and she shivers in the chill air, under the cold eye of the moon. A whole new set of possibilities arise in her mind when he vanished into those archaic depths. But she does not expect him to emerge – naked! Now she’s simply blank of all thought, as she peeks through the gaps from behind a couple of nearby tumbled-over menhirs.
Eboric begins to change. At first, it may look like a trick of the light, as his face elongates, skull widens and thickens. His shoulders follow suit, growing yet broader, his arms thickening into legs. His nails grow and darken, while his hands spread into massive paws. All the while, thick fur sprouts from his skin, the heavy silvery-brown coat of a grizzly. The entire process takes little time, in truth, and it is not long before the large bear stands, fully transformed. He rears up on his hind legs, peering around at his domain, then drops back to all fours, nose twitching toward the wind.
Raidh tries really hard to stay quiet – she holds her breath, wincing at the thudding of her heart which is so loud to her own ears. She does not move a muscle, when that change begins.. But when it ends, the shieldmaiden cannot help but let out a terrified squeak behind the hand clamped over her mouth. She would gladly and boldly face down an army of men, if courage called for it, but this… This was beyond the scope of reason, and the instinct for flight overwhelmed any concept of ‘fight’. Hardly daring to draw breath at all, she begins backing away from the grave-pits, treading as quickly as she can. Her haste condemns caution, so a loose rock skitters. But she is guessing this.. beast.. already has her scent. No wonder the king was so sympathetic to the half-beast abominations. He’s probably going to eat her, now..
Eboric 's head whips around at the sound and yes, his first instinct is to catch and eat the intruder. On this instinct he charges forward, distracted as a part of his mind forces a memory from a man's world, out of place and strange in the bear's mind. Shaking his head from side to side, he pulls up just short of the woman, his eariler snarl replaced by a short 'woof,' as he stares down at this non-prey before him.
Raidh knows there’s no point running. And she has no horse. Why, oh why did she not choose to ride Nidrun? Nidrun would know what to do! And Nidrun could outgallop this.. this.. Eboric.. she was sure of it. But - no horse. Only inferior human legs which, swiftly as they could carry her, would never beat such a predator as this. So this looks to be her death, the Pale Rider come to collect her to the halls of the fallen brave. Or maybe not? Did this count as battle? Did being eaten by a were-thing mean she’s doomed to Draugheim, grey realm of the ordinary dead, instead? It is the thought of Draugheim which stirs her mind to reason once more. She is not without weapon in this, and she would not go down this thing’s gullet without a fight! Anyway, what sort of man marries a girl without knowing it, then takes her maidenhood a whole week later - and then decides to chew her head off? It is outrageous behaviour! Her temper flares, and with it the remembrance of her craft, young as it is. She begins to speak the olden phrases, phonetic equivalents of the binding-runes, the wyrd of protection against evil. Raidh is young but the sounds she makes have power, and they will have some effect at least.. There is a dagger in her hand, ready to slash at bear-face, but intended to carve the line she’s making in the dirt now, quickly! And another! She is summoning her own ancestors from their eternal feast!
Meanwhile, there’s a shadowy figure, not human at all, six feet – not nine – at the shoulder, skulking up and down the barrows, faintly snarling. Only Eboric would glimpse the reflection of the moon off its pale blue eyes, scent its musky odor. Because Raidh is just too busy right now trying to save her own life, as well as hopefully cause her husband – hah! – some sort of injury, before she dies a horrible death.
Eboric does not press the attack, but instead just watches Raidh, his nose constantly twitching as he samples the breeze. It is that which alerts him to the three-legged wolf, and he turns on the newcomer with a snarl. Turning his back to Raidh and her dagger, the werebear places himself resolutely between the wolf and the girl, as if to protect her should the encounter turn violent.
It might smell like wolf. And – though it limps, with a missing left forepaw – walk like wolf. But on all fours, it’s the height of a man, its head more massive and brutal in structure. Its shoulders are hunched with dense muscle and thick fir, its hind end much more smooth and lean. It is ungainly, for its missing limb, but moves quickly enough, its black lips hauling back in a wrinkled snarl that bares a mouthful of truly horrendous teeth. Not a wolf, then – a wharg!
Raidh looks up from her attempt to summon, sees this second beast – and screams. Loudly, and long. Then screams again. She drops the knife – and screams some more. Epic are the screams of Jorgunsdotr, fit to rattle ears from here to the city! And she screams again! There’s no end to this, perhaps. Unless one of two monsters eats her. Which neither really looks like doing right now, but that’s not the point! Monsters!
While his sister continues assaulting the air with her shrillness, Avaldi is lowering his thick head, blue eyes piercing in the moonlight, cold and fixed upon the were-bear. He does not attack – yet. By all the gods, that girl has a gifted pair of lungs! Her shoots her an irritated look. The were-King might kill her just shut her up. The gods only know, Avaldi himself is half-tempted..
Raidh balks, alright. Again, with the screaming! And then she is snatched off her feet, by the great fangs of her half-brother, which latch on to the back of her tunic, careful not scrape the flesh below. Like some mutant feline carrying its young, he drags her toward the bear – for he knows now, as a sliver of reason breaks through the wharg-mind, who the ursine shifter is, and why it’s after his sister. And why Raidh’s out here at all, on foot, and by the barrows in the night, the last place any self-respecting, superstitious Plains Rider would be, unless there was a very good reason.. She is struggling feebly, but her screams rip through a throat that is sore now, so they’re not quite as ear-shattering as they were before.
Eboric forces the transformation through, the bear fighting every last step of the way. Finally, however, the body shifts once more, the fur receding, leaving the king winded, but human. "Raidh," he says to the woman as her brother drags her closer. "You need not be afraid. You are in no danger, I promise you." His voice is low, calming, and he reaches out a hand to her. "Let us speak together a moment."
Raidh doesn’t want to chat! For Othinn’s sake, she’s in the maw of a wharg, and her husband is a bear! She swings a punch at Eboric, which only flails the air between them, the girl too overcome with terror – and the beginnings of a rage-fit as epic as her screams had been – to be civil!
Avaldi drops her like a bag of turnips so she face-plants in the dust, and sits on her with half a hairy buttock, his one good fore-paw pinning her by the hair as well – for he knows that in a temper, Raidh is capable of violence she isn’t otherwise. Best he keep her down, for Eboric’s sake as much as her own.. Drooling slightly onto the back of her head, he turns his ice-blue gaze toward the King. It isn’t a bow – Eboric will never get that kind of submission from Avaldi – but it’s a gesture of some sort, perhaps acknowledging kinship in several ways.
Eboric himself remains rather shaken by the abrupt transformation, but he does his best to remain in the state he is in, and kneels beside the restrained Raidh. He shoots a glance toward the wharg, as if questioning just what he should do, before he attempts to speak to the woman again. "We're not going to hurt you," he says, "so it is not necessary to scream so." He doesn't truly expect her to respond, but he continues to speak all the same, in hopes that perhaps the human voice will calm her. "I had intended to tell you about this before you had to see it. I should have done so right away. I had thought it was commonly known."
Raidh’s teeth are grit together so hard now, it’s a wonder Eboric can’t hear them grinding enamel down. Her breath hisses between them, hard gusts, and her eyes fix on the King, an awkward sidelong view, since she cannot lift her head and the wharg-butt perched on her midriff is not making the return of her wind any easier. Finally, her teeth unclench, “Monster,” she spits. “Liar.”
The wharg drops his snout to poke his nose ungently into the side of her face, Avaldi’s reasoning mind drawn back, as the moon draws a tide, by the King’s return to his human form. The terrible maw retches as parts of it begin to revert in sympathy. A hoarse croak rolls from its throat, “Raidh….”
The girl shrieks again, a strangled sound since her own throat is raw from screaming, “My name! How does this beast speak it? How does it speak at all?!” But then she has a terrible feeling she already knows…
Eboric's face grows grim at Raidh's words, but he keeps his temper in check. Instead, he glances at the beast's missing paw, then back to Raidh. "It is difficult, but not impossible, to speak while transformed. I never bother, myself." He studies her for a moment, trying to determine just how much bad news she will be able to take. With a sigh, he shrugs his shoulders. "It spreads through bites, so when a man is bitten, he will also transform."
Raidh cannot presently appreciate the King’s patience with her, and is anyway in shock, so manners are simply not anywhere on her agenda. She strains to lift her head, presuming wrongly that the wharg was under Eboric’s control and wasn’t going to chew her head off immediately. “Make your beast let me go!” she snaps, and while she’s waiting for that to happen, or not as the case may be, a horrible thought springs into her mind, “Only a bite?” The question is sharp, her body suddenly cold with dread. “We.. you and I.. when we.. and then you…” Even in this ghastly circumstance, the girl isn’t able to use those words she’s heard others speak so freely. Her eyes are blue pools of fear, “Could I have caught it, when we…?”
Eboric offers her a humorless smile. "He is not my beast." He leaves it at that, and shakes his head at her terrified question. "No, I don't think so. At least, it hasn't happened before. So far as I have seen, it is only the bite that spreads the...curse, they call it." He smirks slightly at that thought. "So no, you need not fear. So long as I keep my teeth to myself." He attempts a grin, and looks to Avaldi, raising an eyebrow as if to ask if restraint is still necessary.
Raidh’s recovered herself enough now, and is relieved enough in hearing Eboric’s assurances, that fear is rapidly making way for ire. “If it’s not –yours- then why in the name of Othinn is it –sitting— on me?!” She struggles fruitlessly.
The wharg leans its shaggy head down and slurps a nasty-smelling lick right up the side of her face. Avaldi isn’t as smart in this form as he is when human, but even so he knows that now is not the time to reveal himself. He shift enough that Raidh’s upper half might have some freedom, but is swift to park his heavy frame across her legs as she turns over and tries to rise. Her temper is what it is, he figures, and keeps to caution.
Raidh punches the wharg in its ribs. “Get! Off! Me!”
Avaldi slurs, through his thickened chords, over his bestial tongue, “Make me.” It’s an automatic response, one he’s always given when the siblings fight and he inevitably ends up sitting on his sister. Granted, there’s been no need for it for the past couple of years, so hopefully Raidh won’t twig to the implication of those words.
Raidh smacks at the beast’s shaggy hide again and looks to Eboric. Her expression holds less of the girl in it than the warrior she is born to be, “If I leave you.. if I tell my father about you there’ll be a war and many will die.” She doesn’t know what else to say, at this point, as its all still sinking in and not easily at all.
Eboric cannot help but smile, despite the seriousness of the moment, at the antics of the siblings. But he grows solemn again as Raidh speaks, a hard glint in his eye as he replies. "Many of mine, perhaps. All of yours." Perhaps not the most diplomatic thing to say, but the werebear has never much cared for that. "And though I do not wish a war; indeed, I wish for nothing but peace and friendship, it is your choice to make, in the end. I would...rather that you stay."
The shield-maiden opens her mouth to offer Eboric some cutting, hurtful remark born of anger and dismay – but the simplicity of his statement has stunned her, in it she hears a simple truth, one she knows by now would not sit on his breath effortlessly. Why is it –her- choice? Why is –any- of this happening?! It doesn’t match up to the visions she had in her head at all, of how things were going to be! Raidh is exhausted, adrenaline is waning, her body hurts – and her heart hurts worse. She is of a proud race that is not famous for emotions other than fierce ones, but still she is only a girl and only a human one, at that. So instead of scathing scorn or a forbidden curse, nothing at all escapes her but a wracking sob. Swiftly followed by another.. and another… Raidh’s crying as only a girl her age can, in big soggy gasps of emotion, enough to break the heart of a wharg…
Avaldi attempts to lick the salt of her tears away and is rewarded with a sharp punch to the snout. He backs his head up fast (that hurt!) but leaves his weight upon her.
Raidh isn’t trying to go anywhere any more, she’s just crying, so hard she forgets herself and buries her face in the wharg’s coarse fur to hide the shame of such weakness. It is not a weakness she can control right now, though, so simply.. keeps sobbing into Avaldi’s transformed shoulder.
The wharg returns a look to the King, one which says, “The hell do I do with this?”
Eboric grimaces to himself, more used to war than to women's tears. Though he feels uncomfortable, he draws closer to her, keeping a wary eye on those fists. "You didn't seem to mind my company before," he ventures. "I do not see how it should be different now. I am the same as I was before. I just have certain abilities which are greater than human. Quite often, you may meet or know a lycan and never be aware of what they are. It is not so monstrous as all that." Falling silent somewhat awkwardly, he stretches out a hand, hesitantly considering putting it around her shoulders.
Awkward. This is what Avaldi’s eyes are saying to Eboric now. The three-pawed wharg shifts off his sister’s legs, sensing that most of the fight has gone out of her now, and offering Eboric space in which he can risk the well-being of his damn own nose, and try to comfort Raidh. He’ll hover around in the mists beyond these cairns, though, in case either husband or wife has need of further intervention.
Raidh is left to cry into her hands, which stink of wharg now. She doesn’t reply to Eboric for some time, her shoulders heaving as she releases not just her present burden of emotion, but a good deal of built-up stuff as well. Free to move, to run like hell - she doesn’t. Neither does she make reply yet, but nor does the weeping girl swipe the King’s hand away.
Eboric offers Avaldi a nod of thanks as he vanishes, and settles down on the ground next to Raidh, his arm encircling her shoulders. He remains silent for a long while, obviously unsure as to how to calm her down. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again, then tries again. "I understand how hard this is for you, but it cannot be helped, one way or another. I have come to view it as a blessing, of sorts, and perhaps, in time you might see the same." He pauses a moment. "Or, you may return to your people."
Raidh lifts her face, finally, from her hands. Her eyes are red, her nose is snotty, her cheeks are as wet as the tracks of unhappy slugs. Her voice is small, and somewhat hoarse, “I can’t go home…” Her features screw up into the imminent threat of another bout of sobs, but she controls herself and swallows the feeling, literally. The way she is looking at Eboric now holds no clear emotion, perhaps the blend of all the conflicting, competing feelings has left her somewhat numb. This is probably a good thing. “I…” she realises the truth of what’s she’s saying, only as she says it, “.. do not wish to go home.” There as yet is no response to the were-bear’s words of assurance regarding his condition, his –disease- would be how a Riddarnir would put it. But Raidh isn’t raining her fists into the King’s bearded countenance, and hey – that’s a start.
Eboric gives a slight smile at Raidh's words, and his arm gives her a swift, gentle squeeze. "I am glad to hear it." He sits in silence for a while longer, frowning at the ground in front of the pair. After a time, he speaks almost hesitantly, "And, I will...understand if you wish to keep distant from me."
Raidh remains speechless, but only because she simply doesn’t yet know what to say, though she allows him that squeeze without pulling away. The two will sit in gravid silence for a time, much weight hanging in the slight space between them, while the sounds of creatures furtively moving in the barrows and the occasional cry of a predatory night-bird seem so much louder for that chasm. Raidh isn’t really thinking, maybe still somewhat in a state of shock, but every Rider learns to trust instinct over mind from the moment they are capable of self-awareness – and they can’t just sit here like this forever. She is the first to break through the gulf, her gaze averted to the mists, “I was always told that things.. people.. like you, were ravenous, mad.. “ Raidh’s voice is still small, “And perhaps on the plains they are less.. “ she has enough reason in her to choose the words, “.. civilised, than they are here. We have hated, and hunted, the weres for as long as anyone can remember…” A fresh, fat tear runs down her cheek, ending on her chin where it hangs and glistens in the moonlight. “This is all so…” she is blank, unable to find a way to adequately describe he situation she has found herself in. Giving up on it, she reaches one hand out for Eboric’s own, her grasp on it desperate. A sharp breath is sucked in, as she straightens her spine and turns to him. “We exist by and according to the will of the gods, husband,” her words are coarse, but less like those of a miserable child now. “I must trust that the gods have sent me here, to be with you, for their own reasons. I choose to keep faith in this.”
Eboric gives a small shrug of his shoulders. his large hand enfolding Raidh's "There are some that are entirely wild, and some that are entirely tame, and all that range in between. It depends on the person, really." He looks off into the night once more, idly staring at nothing. "I am glad to hear it," he says again, as she declares her intention to stay. "I will do my best to keep such things from affecting you."
Raidh manages a wan little smile, scrubbing at her soggy face with the sleeve of her free hand. “You mean, you won’t bite me?” she says, only half of it a jest intended to break any remaining tension. “I’d be grateful, if you didn’t.” She tries to catch his gaze, leaning around in the effort, almost tipping over in her weariness, “You’ve said many times now that not all are alike, not all are as we Riders know them. You are proof this is so, my King. For I have .. you know. We.. “ she smiles. Awkaward. “.. and yet, I am still pure of blood. Perhaps then I must be like the grass in the wind, and bend to this new way of thinking.” She pauses for a moment to sniffle runny snot back into her sinuses, a much more attractive option than the alternatives, before adding, “The wharg scared me so.” Her cheeks flush in shame as she thinks of how she panicked. “After what happened to my brother…” Something occurs to her then, and she speaks it, preferring chatter to any silence that might be filled with confusion once more. “Your son, Eboric. And Jerica. Are they…?”
Eboric has to stop himself from pointing out the truth of the matter of the wharg; that is for Avaldi alone to speak. "Jerica is not, not yet anyway. She has expressed interest in it, and I suppose I will oblige her. Aethelric is, however. He was born just like his father." A note of pride enters his voice. He raises one hand to lay the backs of his fingers carefully on the woman's flushed cheek. "I am sorry for giving you a fright," he says, truthfully.
‘Fright’ doesn't really cut it, but Raidh leans her damp cheek into those calloused fingers, “It’s alright,” she says, quietly. “No harm done.” Though she takes a slightly malicious moment to mentally relive that punch in the nose she’d given the wharg. “I was angry, perhaps I still am, that you had not seen fit to tell me. But then, things have happened so quickly.” She knew he’d understand that, only too well, and presses her lips briefly to Eboric’s hand. “All will be well in the end, I know it. And I am very much looking forward to meeting Aethelric, for he is my kin now, too, and children are always a joy.”
Eboric smiles ruefully. "As I said, I had planned on telling you. Your brother and I spoke of it just the other night, and I had been waiting for a good time to tell you." At the thought of Aethelric, he brightens. "He is a good, fierce boy. My father sends letters about him every week."
As Eboric mentions his conversation with Raidh’s brother a low, grumbling whine sounds from somewhere in the mist.
Raidh eyes Eboric. “Wait a minute. You told Avaldi? Before me?” Her free hand bunches all its fingers.
Eboric is not slow to spot the fist, and he slowly withdraws his hand from her cheek. "I did not have to tell Avaldi, I don't think. He will be able to tell you more about that. But believe me when I say that we both had only your best interests in mind when we spoke. We were trying to avoid something like this."
Raidh’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the were-bear,. For again she has the sense that he isn’t telling her the whole of it. When he mentions her brother’s name, she only nods. Oh boy, you can bet your bet your beard she’s going to talk to Half-Arm about this, says the slightly dangerous look in her eye. But the time Eboric’s done talking, her ire abates enough for her to speak reasonably, and her question is not barbed, “When, then, would you have told me, Eboric? I am not such a child that you must hide things from me, you know. And you must admit, talk would have been better than ..such a surprise. And setting your pet wharg on me!” The words carried a very pale hint of humour.
From those mists comes another demi-canine grumble.
Eboric shrugs his shoulders. "I would have told you before Aethelric arrived, sometime. Yes, talk would have been much better, but I feared that such news would make you...distraught, which it did." He glances out to where the wharg stalks in the darkness, and smiles slightly. "Not my wharg. But his help was appreciated, and will not be forgotten." He sighs, and looks again to Raidh. "I only wished to spare you pain."
Raidh’s mouth wears a weak version of that sort of smile that women often have, whose husbands are hulking werebears and not so great at social niceties. She lays her golden head against his arm, blue eyes looking up him. “It’s alright, husband,” she says, ignoring the sting of her skinned elbow. “Just don’t tell Avaldi that I screamed like that. He would never, ever let me live that down. If you tell him…” She leaves unsaid what she would do, because even the words of jokes have power in them, and looks past him, to the moon. “Do you only change on nights like this? It’s what my Amma said. Only on the nights of the moon’s full face.”
Eboric shoots another look out to Avaldi, a small smile on his face. "I will never tell him, I promise." He glances up to the bright moon, and shrugs. "The pull is strongest when the moon is full, and it is hard to resist changing. In truth, though, I can change whenever I like, though it wearies me to do it overmuch."
Raidh shivers a bit, whether from the chill of the barrows or the memory of Eboric shifting before her into his human form. “It looks like it would be painful. Were you bitten, by a bear? Or cursed? Amma said in the olden times, our people knew the curses to make a man a beast. I am not sure that was quite the same thing, though some of our men carry old cursed blood, so that when in battle they become enraged, like beasts. They feel no pain, when they’re like that, and know no fear.”
Eboric shrugs again, frowning as he pulls up the memory. "I had a bear that used to follow me around. It bit me, and it was not until the change first occured that I knew that it was a lycan. It was long gone by then, of course. It is similar to the rage of the berserks, but in a way beyond, because you become an animal, mind and body. It is well worth the pain, I think, and in truth, I am glad that I am what I am."
Raidh’s brows pucker as she listens to the brief tale of the bear, and finally nods, her gaze casting to the rocky ground, “I have learned much this night, Eboric.” The girl pauses, and a brief grin shines, “Including more about were-creatures. I learned that they are not all mindless beasts. And that they do not change with their clothes on.” Her brows rise again now, as she leans back and looks Eboric up and down. “Do you intend to walk all the way back to the palace like that?”
Eboric glances down at himself and, realizing at once his state, grins. "Now that would strike fear into the hearts of my people." He barks a laugh, then rises, and makes his way to the open grave mound. He retrieves his possessions and dresses, emerging into the open air again afterward. "Come," he says to Raidh, "let's go back."
Raidh meanwhile hunts around for her dagger, and it’s tucked back in her belt when Eboric returns from the barrow. She spares the mists a brief, searching glance, as if half-expecting that three-legged wharg to bound out and sit on her again. “Back to bed, husband?” she says lightly, as if she’s said it a thousand times, “Or shall we call it morning and take breakfast in the hall?”
Eboric glances up at the sky once more, seeing the first light of dawn touch the eastern sky, still well below the mountains. "Ah, hell, might as well stay up. There is much work to be done, and no point in sleeping away valuable time." He grins, and leads the way back toward the causeway and Venturil's gates. "I suppose I can eat cooked meat in the morning for once."
Perhaps to help soothe her still somewhat jangling nerves, Raidh does not shut up all the way back to the keep, chattering and asking Eboric questions regarding what bears really do in the woods, and so forth.