Shamed, and angry for feeling such, the dawnling saluted, the gesture crisp and clean despite the twist of his thoughts. Walking away, he relieved Squire Joona of Hellion's reins, unsure of what to do or where to go save the stables. For what it was worth, the youngster refrained from making any snide remarks. Not that they could've, anyhow.

'Not a word,' he growled, stern tone decidedly false as he looked to Joona, earning himself a grin as fingers flexed, forming symbols and shapes.

'How's the face?'

'Smarting.' Willard replied, wiping the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand. 'Stung my pride more than anything. Though, I can't recommend getting on the Captain's bad side.' The woman in question was still in line of sight, though blessedly beyond earshot. 'I earned that,' he said, low, and rife with untamed emotion that he failed to smother in its cradle. 'Didn't I?'

Following the Captain's back with their eyes, the squire signed nought, shrugged nought. Some wounds were too tender to go poking at. Even they knew that. Willard nodded, preferring the ensuing silence over any platitude they may have given in its stead.

'Let's go get Hellion sorted,' he sighed. 'Then, I think I'll take a bath. Figure I must smell like shit, no?' Joona had the good grace to appear shocked. 'I thought that was Hellion?' They signed, jokingly. The bay's ears twitched as she nuzzled his shoulder, encouraging him to pick up the pace. Willard could faintly hear the other horses speaking from their stalls. Whinnying. Whining for attention or food. 'Aye,' said the knight. 'You deserve a rest and a treat, don'tcha, girl?' He ran a hand down her muzzle as packed earth turned to stone.

Passing beneath the shadow of the gatehouse, Willard made for the stables. Fellow dawnlings and duskers greeted him, tacitly ignoring the mark of shame upon his features. No doubt they would hear about the confrontation at the gate. Willard had nothing to hide.

Stripping Hellion of saddle and tack, the knight saw to her needs before thinking of his own. Joona helped him, fingers dancing occasionally, as curiousity overcame caution. Perhaps the monastery grapevine had withered in his absence. Maybe they were just being polite, like two young troublemakers bragging about things that may or may not be necessarily true. For his part, Willard remained tight-lipped, giving them nothing they could use against him later.

Of course, silence in itself was an answer. Joona knew that, too, if their grin was anything to go by.

Finishing up, Willard stepped outside to wash his hands clean in a nearby trough. Joona followed him, and he flicked his still-wet fingers at her playfully. 'Alright! Away with you, now!' He smiled briefly. 'And if you see the old man again, give him a good kick up the backside for me. Just cause.'
 
Anyone who isn’t rattled after watching their friend get slapped across the face in front of half a courtyard... well. That’s someone with a heart carved out of river rock.

Of course she was torn up. Who wouldn’t be, seeing someone they trusted, someone who had helped them, watched over them through rain and firelight and dark nights, get punished like that? Public and sharp. She hadn’t caused it, not directly. But she’d been in the story. Threaded into the moment. That was enough.

“I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful, Syr” she said, voice low and warm. The sort of tone used in quiet kitchens or while peeling apples in the late evening sun. “It’s just been a long morning… a long week ...long everything, if I’m honest.” She almost laughed, but it didn’t quite make it out. She adjusted the bundle under her arm. The clothes neatly folded, a square of honey-smelling soap wrapped in cloth, the corner of her carved comb poking through the linen.

“I think I’d like a little quiet,” she admitted. “Just a moment to settle my thoughts." The green eyes didn’t meet his when she said it, only watched the dust motes turning in the slant of morning light like flour stirred in slow circles.

Venla took the key from Aarno’s hand, fingers curled around it. Her thumb brushed the loop.

"You’ve been… very kind, Syr Aarno. I’d hate to keep you from your duties. After… well..” Her glance flicked past him to the corridor. “I think one knight getting slapped for my sake today is quite enough.” She tried to make it light, a passing jest. Something light tossed like a stone into a stream, but it came out softer than she meant. Venla offered him a smile then, small, but honest. Gently said. “If you’ve time to walk me, I’d like that.”
 
The whistle could've been meant for anyone. But the nickname? 'I keep tellin' you, that's my brother's name!' Turning at the sound of tapping feet, Willard found it within himself to muster a small smile, all teeth and tired amusement. 'Ain't got nothing better to do than go chasing ghosts, Hectorino?'

The dawnling held out his hand for the clasping.
 
Clasped and shook about the forearm, pulled in closer and braced about the back in bump of shoulder and heavy lops of affection. "Your brother's luck be yours then, Billard of Blue Bay," A thing all close and squeeze, too old to care for any matter of proper. A pause, fingers grasped about shoulder, arm stiffened to push some space between.

Breathless from laugh and hug. "Half worried a fuckin' Blighter took you," A finger wicked playful, older brother's tease, against the red rasspberry growing fat on his cheek. A bounce of a laugh. "What's this then?"
 
It was good to see the half-ear, to that much he would confess. 'Blue Bay? Where the fuck's that?' Breaking the hug, the brothers took turns appreciating the other for who they were. The anger simmering in his chest snuffed itself out. Reduced down to embers by the simplest of gestures. 'This? Oh, just a mother's affection,' he grinned, waved it off like it was nothing.

'Mind if we keep it shaking?' He hefted the saddlebags looped over his shoulder. 'I need to swing by the dorms. After that, the baths,' he gave an exaggerated sniff, nose crinkling, as it sometimes did when confronted with something foul.
 
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"Mothers affection, aye?" he let the words trail in the air. Slow nod. "Well, hope you at least earned it then," a shove on the shoulder as they turned to move, half clasped about the loaded up dawnling with a long arm.

"Baths, now that's new," he played along, all tooth and tongue. "Bit of wisdom your shagginess learned on this mystery adventure?" he sniffed the air and peeled off some. Shook his head. Sniffed at himself, arming doublet stuck and dusty as it was from the training yard. Scrunched his nose up. "Could use one myself actually," ran his fingers through his own crop of curled hair. "Trim wouldn't be bad either,"

They moved long. He grabbed the saddlebags off him, and slung them over his own shoulder as they moseyed.
 
Very kind. Below average standards, then, a part of him wanted to diagnose. Even if it was such a regular thing to say, on its face. Still, he tried to smile at the little concerns and compliments.

As for the rest, the will for quiet and yet that he should walk her were a little— Conflicting, considering how much he liked to talk, but suppose she had yet to learn such a thing. Regrets abound, better get them out of the way! He nodded, flashing a grin, true, and swung his hand in a gesture to suggest she get on locking up the door behind her.

“ All the time. My duties are my own for today— Age perk. “ Turned on heel to lead them down the hall, swift enough lest he force her to endure himself any longer than she had bid. It isn’t far. Ahead, then left and around the bit of green. Red door, freshly painted not two weeks since, in the shadow of a brick gateway.

“ And you haven’t seemed ungrateful to me. Just— “ Shrugged, staring to middle distance. “ Safer to ask things, no? Our discomforts are our own. “

As is the will for fierce independence or lack of company, if it had been a matter as that.

“ Your arrival could already have been plenty better, I reckon. “ Added, alighted a glance upon her sidelong. Maybe understatement?

“ But Syr Willard was also very kind to you, I should hope? Even if the time on road does tend to get— long. “
 
Willard didn't answer. Just let the man come to his own conclusions. Deservedly or not, they were past it now. Penance would be done, and that was all that mattered. 'Shagginess, now that's new,' he replied, running a callused hand through his hair, wavy, and thicker than he'd first realised. 'Soap and suds draw feral noses, my friend. But I'm home now.' As for safe, well, he would have to tread softly.

'Chop any more off that flat top, you'll be bald,' chuckled the dawnling, unable to deny Hector's helping hand. 'Then what'll all the lady-knights say? Nothin', cause they'll be weepin' for the loss.'

A bit of teasing, returned. 'Much happened in my absence?' Asked the dawnling, diverting the subject away from themselves a moment. The questions would come, given time, and Willard would answer. Given time. 'Look like you've been through the ringer, for one,' he smirked, sweeping his fellow from head to dusty toe. 'Get your arse kicked or what?'
 
She shut the door behind her with a soft click and locked it, the key warm in her hand.

“Age perks?” she repeated like a soft echo. She glanced sideways, eyes twinkling “Though I must say, Syr Aarno, you don’t look old enough to be using that as an excuse.”

"Safer to ask things, no? Our discomforts are our own.“
“True enough,” she said with a quiet chuckle. She looked at the doors they passed, green, then red. “If you don’t ask, you might never know... unless, of course, you’re a mind reader.”

Then Aarno’s words drifted through the air, fishing for more: “But Syr Willard was also very kind to you, I should hope? Even if the time on road does tend to get— long.“

Venla clicked her tongue softly, lips curving as she glanced at him. Her lips parting in a mock-thoughtful hmm. “Oh, very kind,” she said. “Didn’t let me fall into a ditch even once. Shared his bread. Looked away when I had to pee in the hedgerow. A paragon of chivalry.”

The ginger walked a few paces. A soft sigh that balanced the theatrical with the real weariness in her bones slipped out of her. “Aye, long roads, long nights...” she said, smirking. “How about you, Syr Aarno? Do you handle them with a steady stride? Do you find other… ‘distractions’ to pass the time? Or should I say, ‘kindnesses’ worthy of your attention, Syr?”

If there was one thing a tavern girl needed, it was a quick tongue and a quicker mind, without them, she’d never last a day spinning tales and dodging drunks. She flashed the knight a grin, sweet as a summer apple.
 
"A likely story," Hector said with a laugh. Strides easy. A shake of the head at the bit about his hair. "Eight above, couldn't have that," he said with a run of fingers over the top of his do. "None would be weepin more than me," he chuffed.

Eyes set ahead slid sidelong to regard his brother.

"Bit a hard training never hurt none," Hector said with a wink. "Sept in the morning," Laughed as he adjusted the saddle bags on his shoulder with a roll. Eyes forward as the green spaces, and tended gardens rolled by. Benches and places of rest, spotted about.

"Had sparring with Gruki," he laughed. " And we know how that one went, don't we?" His legs would burn something fierce from all the footwork he had pulled just to try and avoid the brutal wallops of her blunted sword. And he'd have more than a few bruises from where the sword thwacked to the bone. "Master Hawken made sure she kept me flat on my ass most of the time, and mutual deaths the rest of em," he shook his head. No real hurt in it, save the pride of a competitor. Raised a single finger. "I did manage a clean riposte off a bind that saw me through one round, though" a bit of joy in the struggle. Waved a hand.

"Other than, nothin more than the usual preparation," voice more sober. "Readying to move out, south and west to the baronies and marches," no joy in it. "Landing in Lehtoja by march's end," a shake of the head. His eyes went back to Willard's. "What about you, Billard?" shoved him at the shoulder. "Were afield a long time," worry and sadness there. For what came next, more than what had happened. "Coulda been showing me more of those trick shots of yours," he tried to brighten up.

The dormitories were fast ahead.
 
'Gruki, huh?' Willard didn't know whether to laugh or feel pity for his old friend. 'You poor, poor bastard.' As the saying went, it was better to die a hundred times in the yard than once in the field. You could learn a lot by getting your arse kicked. Or your face slapped. 'Syr Hawken's really been pushing her lately. Glad to know they're both on our side,' he smirked, tapping Hector's shoulder with a balled fist.

The tone shifted as stone turned to gravel, each crunch getting them one step closer to the dorms.

'I was,' he confessed, disregarding Hector's worries with a shrug. 'Patrolling with Breklinn. East circuit. Didn't run afoul of any Blighters or broken men fleeing the War. All is quiet, out thataway.' Odd, maybe, but Willard had no complaints. 'I had some... personal business to take care of, so Breklinn agreed to return ahead of me. Not the wisest of decisions, granted, but I hear she made it back okay.' No doubt she'd received a proper bollocking also. It was hard to imagine Captain Selene angry, but then the same had applied to Helena, before she duly put him in his place.

In front of everyone, too. Willard had been mulling that part over in his mind. Now, he was starting to understand why.

'I'll tell you all about it once we're out of these dusty rags,' he promised, striding down shadowed colonnades and through echoing hallways to where the Sworn were quartered. 'Assuming you can keep it to yourself, of course?' He grinned, drawing to a halt outside his room.
 
Now there was that charm and spirit — easy conversation and even jokes after a bit of a rough start. While it first struck him as jarring, a great contrast in tone, he hadn’t but to smile at it as she went on. This seemed to be closer to how most people should’ve met her, in the everyday.

Similar kind of quick talker as our good Syr Willard. The — Paragon of chivalry?

He inclined his head in a huff of a laugh at that, through bared sharp teeth. Shook his head and restrained his will to add anything, allowing space for her jest. In place of actual answer, as it was, steering away therein. To himself, which had him quirk a brow sidelong.

You don’t truly want to know—

“ Steady stride— Usually, unless my bum leg acts up. “ He shrugged, tossing his head as if he was bragging. Don’t get these special old bones in every street corner. “ Distractions are myriad, not so much kindnesses. Travel with this damn lot— “

He glanced about them, making a turn to the left and through an archway, voice echoing for the slightest little moment.

“ We generally just slap each other around and poke fun the rest of the time. Sparring. “

He flashed a wider smile as they passed into the yard outside, the paved path that’d circle the small garden in the middle.

“ But that’s the paragons of chivalry to you. The like we have here, anyway. “ Spoken fondly, in the midst of his glance that’d stray from her to the surroundings. Alighted on the striding shapes of Syrs Rookheart and Willard, winking to view betwixt the bushes.

“ I imagine you’ll fit in quite well, clever as you are. Just a bit of a change of scenery, hmh? “

Full of all sorts. Rag-tag and ill-behaved to the proper noble.

“ If I may be so bold as to assume you haven’t been to a monastery of this like before, Miss Venla? “
 
She huffed a little laugh, low and fond, the way someone might when hearing an uncle grumble about his knees. She gave him a side glance, half teasing, half honest. “Some roads are long enough without needing to race down ’em.”

Venla’s steps slowed just enough to show she was listening, even as her gaze wandered to the neat rows of thyme and sage in the little garden. Her fingers fussed lightly with the folded hem of one of her folded clothes in her arms. "Nothing says knighthood like a friendly punch in the ribs, I suppose.”

“Change of scenery? That’s one way to put it...” She wasn’t sure how she’d chosen to leave, or if she'd been dragged along by something bigger than choice.

When he asked, her eyes flicked sidelong, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Aye, you may assume that, Syr Aarno.” Her voice stayed light and pleasant. A quick smile, brighter than it felt. “Never had reason to.” Until now.

A small beat of silence, then, tilting her head slightly toward him with a curious glance. “Why do you ask?” She stepped lightly as they moved around the garden path, skirts brushing the stone like a whisper. "Or are you just wondering how far from home I’ve wandered?” Her words came light enough, but inside, the thought sat heavier than she let on. Venla wasn’t like those who needed to roam. Venla’d had a warm hearth and a steady roof, her mother’s bread on the table and the traveler’s stories by the fire. Folks might laugh, think it small-minded, how her whole world had fit inside the meadows and woodlands of Arrowdale. But to her, it had been enough. Why go chasing wonders when you had them waiting in your own back garden?

And yet, here she was. Stone walls, stranger’s faces, the quiet smell of soil and old halls. “When did you come here, Syr Aarno? What made you choose all this? Taking the Oath of Anathaeum, I mean.”

She saw him, just a flash of Willard between the hedges, walking alongside another knight, his step easy, his head lifted. And for a moment, the knot in her stomach loosened. Smiling. Talking. Lighter in the step, as if that slap hadn’t bruised anything but skin. And that was something. Enough to let her breathe, though the guilt still hung about her shoulders like a damp cloak.
 
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Hector listened. Judgement only in the twist of lips and scrunch of brow. Personal business. But, he would hold his tongue.

He could hear it on the younger man. Raw and red as that cherry on his cheek.

"No, not the wisest by any measure," is all he would say. Easy and with a laugh lifted with disbelief.

Half the balewood crawled with blight, the other with the Sightless. The Vayden lands prone to the afflictions born from such maladies. But that was conversation for another day. Today, he would just be glad to have his brother back safe.

"I hear ya," Hector said at the door, slipped the saddle bags from shoulder and saddled them quick onto Willard's shoulder. Braced same shoulder with one hand. Gave him a pat on the cheek with the other. and a rustle of the road stuck mess he called hair. "Be seeing you in the baths then, Billard," trailed off, and made for his own dorm.
 
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