“What do your eyes see, Lady Falena?”<br/><br/>Realising that she must have zoned out from both body and mind, the red head regained herself quickly. “I see my future.” After a long moment of consideration the soft words surfed out on a light sigh. She gathered the reins of her idle mount that was keenly devouring the leaves from a young birch. It was time to leave.<br/><br/>“Do you want to ride closer and catch a better glimpse at it?” suggested Maédóc Galarion kindly, her friend and loyal watchdog. The brightest hours of the day had gone by and the fairgrounds were blooming in life since the nomads’ arrival. Falena hadn’t meant to come here at all, but they had passed the field along the way and a tiny spark of curiosity had dragged them there. They had watched for a distance, looking aimlessly at the lively crowd that was settling in.<br/><br/>“No.” She breathed lowly and the blue scarf that covered her face fluttered. Silence established itself between the pair and she carefully turned to look at the middle-aged man.<br/><br/>Young children thought of him as scary, women saw him as monstrous and men would have taken the opportunity to spit on him if given. His dirty blonde hair was shaven on the sides and the long, thick tresses left on top of his head was gathered in a multitude of braids, which in turn had been gathered in a thick ponytail. He was blessed with a pair of stunning eyes and they were the bluest ones Falena ever had seen, but she knew it was a delicate feature many often overlooked. He was a marked man; a felon and his face was marred with the decoration of the red hand of caution. Any man that ventured too far beyond the boundaries of laws found himself being branded by the iron once caught.<br/><br/>The handprint-shaped scar covered his whole face; the healed skin was thick and bulging, and even after twenty years, the redness still hadn’t faded. Some declared it never would either, because the iron had supposedly been given as a gift from Remnon – the god of misdeeds and penalties. Even those condemned to rot until death finally came was branded, because if they ever managed to escape the iron bars the whole world would still see them for what they truly were.<br/><br/>Maédóc had trekked the road of redemption though. She remembered being thirteen the day she asked him about the mark and he had been quite frank with her, deeming her mature to hear the uncensored version. In a drunken haze he had struck and killed two men after they had sullied his little sister. Abandoned by their parents and slaving in the service for a foul cabbage farmer, there hadn’t been any funding to pay for someone to stitch her up. A month after the ordeal a fever had burned her from the inside out and she had departed to the afterlife. She suffered until the very end, Galarion had told her.<br/><br/>And then the stars aligned, the planets convened and the skies opened; the two men returned to the rural village a month after her death.  Still wounded by grief and with liquor clouding every ounce of sense within him, he had killed them. Two men that stood under her father’s control and of course, justice had come for him a week later. They had dragged him all the way back to the great citadel to toss him in the dungeons without summing up all the facts. A month later, the Lord had become privy to the incident and the history that had led up to it. As a result he had plucked Galarion from the dungeons and her father had cut pride in half and apologised, because he had known of the unstable nature of the two soldiers.<br/><br/>Galarion had been offered freedom, but had instead asked for a purpose. Not having anything to tie him to the earthly life anymore, the Lord allowed him to join the ranks of his house. After close to twenty years of loyal service he had proved himself more than once to their family and Falena couldn’t remember a day when he hadn’t been around to watch her whenever she ventured beyond their stone home. She knew already that she would miss him dearly.<br/><br/>“Have you met him?” She inquires after a while. They should leave, they really should, but there is something about the nomadic camp that keeps her idle and away from action.<br/><br/>“No, Lady Falena, I have not. Although birds do twitter…”<br/><br/>“I don’t want to hear rumours.” Falena cut in quickly and the haste turned the words harsh. She wanted to meet him without expectations. Rumours had the foul tendency to shape up a blurry and untrue reflection of the real thing. Not clinging onto a fantasised image of the man she would have to spend the rest of her life with was an act of mercy for herself; a way of shielding herself. If there was no hope and no fear when they finally stood face to face then there would be no fundamental reason to be disappointed. At the same time, there would be not be a thought restraining her if he did fit n the long gone and abandoned silhouette of the ideal husband.<br/><br/>“Understandable.” Máedóc murmured and hesitated, before launching a carefully picked question. “Do you know anything about him?”<br/><br/>“I’ve heard that he fought in the war, but that is all I know.”<br/><br/>Silence came again and crept in between them, and they continued to aimlessly watch until the camp seemed to have cooled down.<br/><br/>“Shall we perhaps take our leave? The day is fading.” His inquiry was met with a vague nod, before they turned their horses around and abandoned their place on top of the small hill that had given them a good, distanced view of the Hadju’s camping grounds.<br/><br/><br/><div align="center"><strong>~</strong><br/></div><br/>Today is the day of the feast and the level of anxiety is well on its way to touch the clouds. There is a heaviness behind her blue eyes, one caused from all the sleep lost throughout the night. She had trashed and turned, flipped her comforter, quilts and pillows until no end, opened a window for fresh air and drunk some wine in the midst of hopelessness, but in all she had only managed to catch a few hours of sleep. It was far from the idyllic start for a day loaded with jittering nerves, and instead of lingering in the bed that offers her little rest, she decide to start the day early. She eats breakfast with mother and Ida, her father’s second wife, before spending the morning with the seamstresses to touch up the final details on tonight’s dress.<br/><br/>She is released from their needles and pins when the sun just crawled onto its highest peak. Tonight’s feast spurs the whole castle in a frenzy of preparations and she sick sacks her way through the corridors to avoid the multitude of rushing servants. She meets her father just outside the main kitchen, counting the barrels of wine and ale for the feast. There is at least a dozen of them and she wonders amusingly if he intend to drown the guests.<br/><br/>“Good day.” Kaived greets when she steps into his field of view.<br/><br/>“Greetings father. I can see that the preparations are coming along.”<br/><br/>“Aye, there is not much left to do. The kitchens are in full swing.”<br/><br/>“Hm, what’s on the menu tonight?” Falena asks politely although her appetite is hidden away with any excitement for the coming feast.<br/><br/>“There most thrilling dish on the table will be wildcat; a morveen.” Kaived announced, sounding proud; a strong tone that matched the smile his lips carried. Wildcat was a rather dodgy term for the real thing. Morveens could be found roaming in packs on the mountains close by and they didn’t exactly come in the typical street cat size. The largest one ever slayed had been three meters from short nose to sharp tail, but it was rare that they managed to grow that big. The typical feline creature reached the height of a large hound and they all sported a deep ash grey fur. A solid coloration that created quite the contrast toward the white mane the males often grew.<br/><br/>“And I suppose<em>you </em>take credit for this spectacular addition?” She speaks lightly, in a teasing manner and her father smiles fondly in return. The Lord of the castle was stuck in the old ways and stood by the ancient tradition that the host should bear responsibility to put the most extravagant dish on the table.<br/><br/>“What gave me away?”<br/><br/>She feels a bit lighter and the lump in her chest shrinks. Her father had always been a busy man, now more than ever when the nomads had come and it was moments like this that were precious to her. They share a small laugh, until there is a change of subjects and suddenly, she doesn’t feel as light anymore. “Are you excited for tonight?”<br/><br/>The smile of hers falters in an instant. “I don’t know.” The hesitance to her voice makes the lie more obvious; how can she be excited? “I am nervous… and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this nervous.” She can feel her heart rush a little faster and she takes a small, calming breath. She still have hours until the feast; hours before they have to see each other.<br/><br/>“There is nothing wrong with some dancing nerves.” Her father reassures gently. “But know this; he is a good man and there is no reason to harbour any fear.”<br/><br/>Falena had always been a careful and cautious individual; finding little thrill in the unknown and unfamiliar, which was probably one of the reasons why she enjoy the company of Galarion so much. They were cut from the same cloth and unlike her father, who is quite the adventurer, the watchdog knows the scare that comes from stepping beyond the boundaries of comfort.<br/><br/>What is there to say? She simply nods and leaves words out of it, because she doesn’t want to discuss tonight’s celebration or her mysterious spouse. The mere mentioning of him aids her nervousness further and she almost fears that these trembling nerves might shake the meat from her bones. Taking her escape sooner rather than later, she says her goodbye before departing.<br/><br/>“I should go father, I’ll see you tonight.”<br/>