Awareness creeps up on Maeve slowly.  Blinking the sleep from her golden eyes, she sits up in bed and brushes rogue wisps of hair from her face.  Although a few strands of silver have begun to make their appearance, her hair is for the most part still a rich copper.  The familiar, comforting aroma of black tea wafts throughout the cottage, beckoning her to the kitchen.  Maeve smiles.  One of the first things she taught the hellions when they became old enough to not horribly injure themselves around an open fire was how to brew a perfect cup of tea.  They had taken that lesson to heart, although their taking the initiative to actually do so was a surprise, albeit a welcome one.

Throwing a robe about her shoulders, Maeve pads into the kitchen where, sure enough, an empty teacup sits waiting next to a steaming kettle.  A dollop of her own honey sits in the bottom of the cup--the hives were in fine form this year and were still producing amply even at summer’s end.  That was good; her customers craved the stuff in their tea, especially when autumn began creeping in, as it was doing now.

Maeve pours her tea and takes a sip, a lazy smile creeping across her face as she does so.  There was truly no finer way to start a quiet, peaceful autumn day--

Too quiet.  *Too* peaceful.  Where were the hellions?

No sooner has she formulated that thought than a loud scream of outrage and the clang of metal-on-metal break the comfortable silence.

Ah yes.  There they are.

Maeve makes her way to the front entrance of the cottage and opens the door, leaning against the jamb as she savors her beverage and watching with a sort of twisted maternal pride as the twins do their best to destroy each other with the swords she’d commissioned from the blacksmith as gifts for their sixth birthday. She watches her children battle, making sure to let each one get in a few good hits while determining the best point at which to step in to prevent them from doing each other a serious hurt.  When the little copper-haired boy overbalances and *thwacks* his sister on her hip, Maeve deems that that time has come and sets her cup down.

“ARI!  CASSIE!” she hollers in a voice that has lost none of its military steel. Two pairs of gold eyes swivel in her direction, and the swords fall to the ground with a *clunk.*  “Oh sh--” Ari begins, then claps a hand over his mouth, not wanting to get into more trouble than he probably already is.

Maeve marches up to her recalcitrant children, hands on hips.  The twins squirm underneath her imperious gaze.

“Ari, Cassie,”  Maeve says to her children, “can you tell me why I yelled just now?”

“Um. . . .because I overbalanced on my lunge?” the young boy responds.  “I should always have complete control over all of my movements.”

“And I should have seen Ari’s mistake and dodged it,” his sister adds.  “A warrior must be one step ahead of her opponent at all times.”

“Yes, excellent,” Maeve says, tousling her children’s hair.  “But you’ll do better next time.  Your form is already improving.  If you keep it up, at this rate you’ll be ready to begin learning the guisarme in just a year or so.”

Ari and Cassie squeal with joy at the prospect of a dangerous new toy, and flock about their mother, chattering excitedly.

“In a year or so, I said!” Maeve says, raising her voice to be heard.  “For now, I want you both to go and feed Sekhmet and her chubs.  There should still be a side of mutton in the cold cellar.  And once you’ve done that, go and change into something halfway presentable.  We’ll want to head into town early to set up for the Ascension Day feast.”

The twins practically bowl each other over in their haste to finish their chore and celebrate the special day.  Maeve watches them go with a fond smile.  When she turns back to the house, former Staff Sergeant Akkar--now just Akkar, and still looking like dead ringer for Pedro Pascal or maybe that guy from Rogue One, you know the one, they look kind of identical--is standing there sipping at his own cup of tea.

“They wake you up too?” Maeve asks as she goes to join him.

“I’m not sure how it would have been possible to sleep through their noise,” he says.  Akkar winces slightly as Cassie trips Ari in an attempt to beat him to Sekhmet’s paddock. “Do you think we’re raising them right?”

“Yep,” Maeve says simply.  “You?”

“Yep.”

They sip their tea in silence for a minute.  Maeve looks at her almost empty cup.

“The hellions make a damn good cup of tea, but they never do unless somebody puts them up to it,” she says, looking sideways at Akkar.  “Do I have you to thank for this?”

Akkar gives a lopsided grin. “You might.  I figured what with today being Ascension Day, well. . .I know your mayoral duties keep you busy today--being the Savior of the World and such--but I also know you’re always a little down on this day of all days.  I wanted to make sure you had a good morning.”

Maeve smiles sadly.  “Thank you.”

They stand in comfortable silence for a minute longer.

“You miss them, don’t you?” asks Akkar.

“Every single day.”

“Do. . .do you ever have any regrets?  About not joining them when you had the chance, I mean?”

From the direction of Sekhmet’s paddock come the shouts of the twins arguing over who gets to toss the side of mutton over the fence.

“None whatsoever.”

“Good.” Akkar chuckles softly and shakes his head.  “I know I must have said it at least a thousand times over the years, but I still can’t fathom how I came to end up here.  One minute I was in Gaelia, the world collapsing around me in gouts of fire and darkness.  The next--”

“--the next you found yourself lying on your back in the middle of the main town square with me bending over you,” Maeve finishes.  It’s obviously a conversation the couple has had numerous times already.  “Who can say?  The gods work in mysterious ways.”

Bet it was Auriel though.  Fucking romantic.

______________________________________________________________________________

Truly, the gods *did* work in mysterious ways, at least where Maeve was concerned.  The townsfolk whispered among themselves that she was. . . .favored.  How else to explain some of the unusual, fortuitous events which made up her life?

When she gave birth to the twins in a horrific three-day ordeal which the midwife said would undoubtedly have killed any other woman. . . .Maeve not only pulled through but was up and about less than a week later with absolutely no ill effects.

When the twins accidentally got in between a mother bear and her young while exploring the woods one day. . . . .and then spent a happy hour romping with the cubs while the mother dozed unconcernedly nearby.

And, most puzzling of all, when all of Maeve’s attempts to get a coffee crop to take in the very un-Gaelian climate failed. . . . a sack full of perfectly roasted beans appeared on her doorstep.  And continued to do so from then on whenever her supplies ran low.

It was certainly odd.  But after a time, nobody questioned it.  The sun rose in the east and set in the west.  Rivers ran downhill.  And the mayor and her family were blessed by the gods.  And why not?  They were on a first-name basis after all.

Besides, the coffee was amazing.  Who would think to question its existence?
____________________________________________________________________________

It is not a long walk to the town’s main square, but it is made longer by the twins darting off approximately every five seconds to inspect an interesting rock, leaf, flower, animal footprint, pile of scat, etc.

Damnit, Boreas.  Quit putting toys in their way.

“C’mon you two.  It would be nice if we got there at some point today.  I’ll tell you a funny story about Aunt Lyriel as we walk.”

The twins giggle and rush back to their parents.  They begin to effect a snooty air and a decidedly poncy walk--their imitation of “Aunt” Lyriel.

Akkar winces again.

“Given the circumstances, isn’t that more than a bit heretical?”

“Certainly not!  Auriel did tell me that it was my duty to keep them from getting too big for their britches.  So in a way, I am simply obeying a divine command.”

“Mmhmm.  It’s not at all that you love telling that story about how the horse--Shipoopi?  Sha Na Na?--didn’t like Aunt Lyriel so much.”

“Well yeah, mostly that.”

____________________________________________________________________________


Although it is still relatively early by the time the family makes its way to the main square from the homestead/teahouse/griffon ranch, there are already a number of citizens milling about bedecking the buildings, carrying trestle tables out into the square, preparing food, and generally getting ready for what appears to be a large outdoor picnic. (Maeve’s contribution, a massive barrel of one of her most popular blends, is already heating in an equally massive cauldron.)  Ari and Cassie are eager to run off and explore the festivities, and grow increasingly impatient when their mother is stopped every few feet to be greeted by one of the townsfolk.  (Always addressing her as “General” or “Mayor Hassan,” in spite of Maeve’s futile attempts to get them to call her by her given name.)  Eventually, the twins give up their semblance of good behavior and run off to meet some of the other children for a game of tag while their parents are distracted.

“Are you going to take care of that now?” Akkar asks, nodding toward the leather sack Maeve holds in her hands.

“I think so,” she says. “I’d like to see to it now, before the crowds begin to arrive.”  He gently squeezes her shoulder in understanding and then busies himself with attempting to find his children.  Maeve makes her way to a small wooden shrine on the edge of the square and goes inside.

The inside of the shrine is simple and unadorned.  Later today someone will undoubtedly hang flowers and greenery to mark the occasion, but for now it is bare.  Maeve walks the few steps to the altar and kneels before it, the leather sack at her side.

“I told you once that I wasn’t going to worship you, and that is still the case.  Don’t get any ideas just because I’m kneeling.  It’s easier to set everything up this way,” Maeve says, turning her gaze skyward as she speaks.  It is quiet in the shrine, and Maeve takes a moment to enjoy a peaceful respite from what will be an otherwise busy day.

“You know, this is a weird day for me.  Everyone will be reciting toasts and prayers in your honor later, leaving offerings throughout the day.  Treating you, well, like the gods you are.  Even now, it’s still strange for me to see them regard you as such, when I saw all of you at your worst, when I saw you eat, sleep, piss and shit like any lowly mortal.  I wonder if it’s strange for you too."

She reaches into the bag and pulls out a number of small, unrelated items.

“Anyway, I brought you some things.  NOT offerings.  Just. . .mementos from an old friend, if you will.”

The first items Maeve lays on the altar are a sprig of dried lavender and a stick of sandalwood incense.  She lights both with a flint and tinder, and the aromas blend in a pleasing, smoky haze.

“The lavender crop came in strong this year, Lyriel and Auriel,” she says.  “I think you might have had something to do with that.  No, I *know* you had something to do with it.  Next year, maybe tone it down a bit though?  We have *so* much soap, and nobody knows what to do with it.”

Next, she pulls from her bag a flask full of strong, hot coffee.  Maeve pours the coffee into a mug which she places on the altar next to the burning flowers and incense.

“Keef, we were fresh out of lions.  Otherwise I would have brought you one of them instead,” she says. “Please don’t take that as a request for more lions though. While I appreciated your thoughtfulness that one summer. . . .not again.”

Maeve shudders delicately as she reflects on what everyone came to refer to as the “Summer of Lions.”  It is not remembered with any great fondness.

Finally, Maeve reaches a hand into the bag and emerges with a handful of birdseed, which she scatters on the altar.

“Boreas, you always struck me as the type that didn’t really like much of anything. But maybe you’ll appreciate the visitors this might bring.  I know we certainly enjoy the ones you send to us.  Did you know that Cassie is becoming really skilled at birdcalls?  They’ll come and eat out of her hands now.  She’s taking after her namesake in skill as well as sass.”

Maeve wipes a tear from her eye.

“Be well.  I miss you, and love you.  But I’ll see all of you again, one day.  That is my promise.” 

Her task completed, Maeve rises and leaves the shrine without a backward glance.  Two beats later, she sticks her head back in again.

“Oh, Finwe! Selena!  Um. . . .. . . . . . . . . .” She shrugs helplessly and leaves once again, this time for real.

As if on cue, a wren flies through the open window and begins pecking at the seed. Aside from the wren’s soft chirping as it eats, all is quiet in the shrine; the mingled aromas of lavender, sandalwood, and coffee filling the little space. It’s hard to tell for sure, but it’s entirely possible that the sound of a noisy *gulp* is heard, and perhaps, just perhaps, the level of coffee in the mug goes down somewhat.  A soft breeze skitters through the room.

One day, yes.  But not for some time.  Be well, with our love and our blessings.

Outside, it is shaping up to be a dazzling autumn day in New Aeryis.  Maeve stands in the square, taking in the sights and sounds of the thriving community she helped to forge.  Akkar, it seems, has finally managed to corral the children and extract from them the promise of semi-good behavior.  He looks up, catches sight of her, and smiles radiantly. Heart brimming with joy, Maeve goes to join them.

“Well, I’m back.”
This message was last edited by the player at 17:08, Wed 11 Jan 2017.