The Longest Journey
by Shamrock
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The essences of the characters in this story belong to
Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al. However the actual characters and
their representation in this timeline are mine, my own, my
*precious*... ahem, sorry.
Author's Notes: Right, my muse seems to have fallen into some weird
uber-dimension, so for this one I'm going back to my roots and we're going
way way back to Celtic Ireland (or thereabouts). All the main
characters, with the exception of Alwyn, are representations of the
BtVS characters. It should be fairly obvious who's who, but even if
it isn't, I'm not gonna tell you 'cause hopefully that'll become
clear over time.
Thanks: To Anne for wowing me with her betaing skills and being
gracious enough to pull this one out of quagmire it got stuck in in
places. To Dad for allowing my impracticality but not my bad syntax,
AND to Gareth for being a big ol' HetSlutBoy tease over FS.
Dedication: To Katy for her inestimable knowledge of Roman names and
associations. As you'll see in the following few chapters, without
her, character names would really have sucked. Thank you.
Feedback: For this? Definitely. It's not one I'm particularly sure of
so input on how you feel it's going is not only appreciated but
really, really necessary. Thanks.
PROLOGUE: THE LONGEST JOURNEY - The Smallest Step
From a window in the third floor of the dun, Alwyn surveyed the courtyard below. It was nearing the end of summer and a cooler breeze was blowing from the sea than had been felt in the previous months. The glistening waters of the Atlantic reflected the dying sun in a blaze of red and gold as Alwyn fixed her eyes on the boats pulling in to the harbour.
It was market day and the stalls were laid out in the village square by the harbour, where loud-voiced men and women peddled their wares to the sailors and villagers strolling from stand to stand. Alwyn watched them go about their business until her attention was distracted by a knock on the door.
"Come in, Aisling," she said without turning from the window. Few people disturbed her when she was in her private chamber. As chieftain and as the Slayer, Aisling O'Connor was one of those privileged few.
The brunette entered and closed the solid oak door softly behind her. There was a quietness in the room that she found herself loathe to disturb, so she sat silently in one of the wooden chairs, waiting for Alwyn to speak.
The druid's room was sparsely furnished, but homely nonetheless. Heat emanated from the hearth, where an ornately engraved cauldron hung suspended over the flames. Aisling didn't know what was stewing inside it, and she didn't want to know either. The smell was deterrent enough.
Eventually, Alwyn turned from her contemplation of the marketplace and faced her Slayer.
"What's wrong?"
Aisling was slouched a little in the chair, her fingers picking at the worn, frayed material on the armrest.
"Diarmad sent word today. He won't be arriving 'til Samhain at least."
Alwyn shrugged, the heavy white robes she wore rising and settling about her shoulders. "Well, that can't be helped."
The Chieftain stood and began to pace about the room. "Aye, but he said he'd be here before the next full moon, and now it'll be months again before he even sets foot on the road." She stopped in front of the fire, staring sullenly at the flickering flames. "And meantime, I'm stuck here."
Alwyn sighed. Over the last nineteen years she had watched Aisling grow from a headstrong young girl into an equally headstrong young woman. She had trained her as a Slayer, taught her ward the lore that the Council had instilled in her. She had overseen her weapons training, including the use of a stake even though vampires were a rare occurence in those parts. And so when the Slayer before her had been killed, Aisling was ready to take up the mantle. Indeed, Aisling was more suited to her role than any in the Council had hoped for. Even now, in the safety of Alwyn's chambers, one ear was listening for any noise that didn't belong, and her hand was never too far from the hilt of the sword she wore at her waist.
Alwyn had seen her through many harsh times in her young life. Like when her father and brother had been killed in battle, and she had inherited the dun and the title of chieftain that came with it. For months the Slayer was lost in a black hiraedd that enveloped her completely as she mourned for her family. Alwyn would find her, sitting on the roof of the dun, dangerously high above the cobbled courtyard, and neither threats nor pleas could entice her to come back in until she was ready.
In Bealtaine, rumours started of a demon pack roaming the countryside, and this was what finally brought Aisling back to herself again. She had ordered her horse saddled, marched into the armoury and taken up her father's sword.
Alwyn had watched her ride out, knowing that it was best to let her go alone, but hating the feeling of uselessness that accompanied the chieftain's departure. She had watched her ride back in again two days later, covered in dried blood, and her grief left buried with the demons she had slaughtered.
But now Alwyn could see again that dark mood that lurked always just beneath the surface of Aisling's gaze. In the great hall, the chieftain would often sit withdrawn, lost in her own contemplation, while all around her her men laughed louder and drank longer, trying to compensate for their leader's silence.
Alwyn had sent word to Aisling's foster brother, Diarmad, who had agreed to come back to the dun. Aisling and Diarmad were close still, even though Diarmad had left Dun Dílis years before to take over the ruling of his own lands. When she heard he was coming, her depression had eased, but now he was delayed, and the darkness was returning once again. Alwyn could read it in her face, feel it hanging in the air between them like the tension before a storm.
"You need to get out of the dun. Take Eoghan and Fergus, go hunt-"
"Och, I've no desire to be hunting," Aisling turned abruptly from the fire to face Alwyn. Her voice was tinged with frustration as she spoke. "Nor feasting, nor listening to the filí nor any of the other things you seem to think will keep me so well occupied."
The chieftain walked across the room to the window. "I want..." She trailed off, leaning on the window ledge, head bowed as she searched for the words to articulate a feeling she didn't fully understand.
"You want what?" Alwyn prompted, knowing - or believing she knew the answer, but also believing that it was a decision Aisling had to reach for herself. Watcher or not, Alwyn couldn't script Aisling's life for her - tempted though she might be at times.
"I want..." The brunette Slayer lifted her gaze, and suddenly her posture straightened and her eyes narrowed.
"I want to know what the hell a Roman warship is doing in my harbour."
She brushed past Alwyn and out the door, while the druid followed at a more sedate pace, sighing at the impetuousness of youth in general and of her ward in particular.
Alaric disembarked from the ship, stopping to cast his eye over the bustling market place. In his hand he clutched the scroll entrusted to him by his master, and as his gaze followed the line of stalls up to the imposing view of the dun that towered over the village beneath its walls, he grasped the message more tightly to him.
He had heard many conflicting reports about the people of this land. Some had warned him they were savage barbarians who'd kill him as soon as he arrived. Others praised their fine art and metalwork and called them civilised. For now, though he didn't appear to be in any immediate danger, Alaric felt uneasy and resolved to hasten to the dun so he could find this druid and complete his task.
He was about to start pushing his way through the thronging crowd, when suddenly they parted, like the tide rolling out, to make way for a group of seven people who were approaching him.
The woman who walked in front was undoubtedly the leader. The leather jerkin she wore left her arms exposed, the sunlight glinting off the gold band that encircled her upper left arm. Her cloak was held in place by an intricately patterned clasp, and though the design was unfamiliar to him, he recognised fine workmanship when he saw it. He watched her approach with a confidence that spoke of her authority in the village, an authority emphasised by the courteous way in which the villagers made way for her.
Her companions were unmistakably warriors. The many scars that Alaric could see told of years of battle behind them and the grim set of their faces set his nerves on edge. When the warrior woman stopped a few feet away from him, his palms were wet with perspiration, and the scroll felt slippery in his grasp.
The woman's hand strayed to the hilt of the long, flat bladed sword that hung by her side, fingering the pommel almost absentmindedly. Almost.
"Greetings from Rome." Alaric bowed low, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as her eyes stayed glued to him.
"And just what sort of greetings are Rome sending today?" Aisling's tone was neutral, but Alaric noticed a dangerous edge to the way she looked at him.
"Rome seeks no quarrel with you. My business here is not one of state, but rather a personal matter of my master's."
"Does your master often send you on personal matters in a warship?" one of Aisling's men stepped forward, gesturing to the ship now moored in the harbour.
"It was the swiftest vessel the navy could spare, and my mission is one that required the utmost haste."
"Well in that case you won't mind accompanying me to the dun while my men search this 'swift vessel' of yours."
Alaric opened his mouth to protest but he was forestalled by a jangling of mail as the six men shifted into readiness.
"I have no desire to be woken tonight by a Roman garrison running through my town. Y'understand?" Aisling raised an eyebrow and Alaric nodded. "Right so," she gestured with a sweep of her arm for Alaric to proceed to the dun ahead of her. "What's this vitally important mission of yours?"
The Roman cast a glance back over his shoulder to see Aisling's men now boarding the ship.
"I'm looking for a druid named Alwyn," he explained. "I was told I could find her at Dun Dílis."
A flicker of curiosity passed across the chieftain's face. "Indeed you can, and what would you be wanting with Alwyn?"
"That's a matter which I must discuss with her alone." Alaric replied.
Aisling was disappointed, but knew better than to pry into her Watcher's affairs. "Well then, lets go find her," she said as they passed through the gates of the dun.
"So Fabius sent you?" Alwyn was standing with her back to the fireplace in her room, facing the Roman messenger who was sitting ram-rod straight in one of the chairs. Aisling was sulking in the great hall below, not having been allowed access to this meeting.
"He is frantic with worry for his son. Marcus was abducted eight nights ago and we still haven't received word of him, nor have we received a ransom demand."
"Marcus has been kidnapped?" Alwyn's face creased into a worried frown. "What makes you think he's being held to ransom?"
"He is the son of a Roman senator." Alaric held out the scroll to the druid. "Fabius sent this so you would know that I speak on his behalf."
Alwyn unrolled the scroll and quickly scanned its contents. The message from her old friend confirmed what the messenger had told her. Marcus had been abducted, and not even Fabius' best trackers had been able to find a trace of him. The Roman senator was imploring Alwyn to come to his aid, knowing she had powers and resources beyond those he could fathom.
She rolled the message back into its case, handing it to Alaric. Her thoughts were racing, though her outward appearance remained calm. This could be exactly the opportunity she had been waiting for. Besides, it would be good to see Fabius again. It must have been...
It was a shock to her to realise just how long it had been since she had seen her friend. He must be nearing eighty by now. Alwyn sighed, and for a moment let herself feel every minute as old as she was. Then she straightened, turning to Alaric with a small smile.
"I'll return to Rome with you," she said. "We'll leave first thing in the morning. Tonight, you shall enjoy the hospitality of Dun Dílis. I'll have someone show you to the guest rooms."
"My thanks, my lady," Alaric stood and bowed low, much to Alwyn's amusement. "The last week or so has been a restless one for us all."
"I would imagine so," Alwyn held the door open for Alaric as they passed out of her chamber and into the corridor. "You can tell me more of the details over dinner. Until then, rest yourself. I can have a servant bring up water if you'd like to bathe."
"Thank you," Alaric replied, feeling less on edge in the company of the well-spoken woman, and now altogether less fearful of the country he found himself in.
Alwyn nodded and motioned to a young boy who was passing.
"Cormac, show this man to one of the guest rooms, then bring him up hot water for a bath."
The young fair haired boy nodded solemnly and moved to stand by Alaric's side.
"You will be sent for when dinner is ready," Alwyn explained, then left to find Aisling.
She found the chieftain had left the great hall, and eventually tracked her to the practice field where she was firing arrows with uncanny precision into the heart of a wooden target.
Alwyn stood back and watched her Slayer train. She felt a swell of pride as every one of the twenty arrows that Aisling loosed found their mark. Only when the quiver was empty did the brunette turn to face her Watcher.
"You've talked to the Roman?"
"I have," Alwyn replied noncommittally.
Aisling nodded as she began walking up to field to retrieve her arrows, checking each before she placed it back in the quiver to ensure that none were bent. As she performed this task, Alwyn remained silent. Aisling contained herself for as long as her nature would allow, before turning and dropping the quiver to the ground.
"Well?"
Alwyn smiled. "Well what?"
"Och, don't tease me, woman. What did he have to say to you?" Aisling was practically bristling with curiosity.
Alwyn turned and began to walk back to the dun. Aisling picked up the quiver and fell into step beside her.
"Fabius, a very old friend of mine is a senator in Rome," she began.
"A senator?" Aisling's brow furrowed slightly, "Is that like a chieftain?"
"In a way," Alwyn explained. "It's like an advisor to the Emperor - who's like the High King. A Councillor so to speak."
"A druid then?"
Alwyn laughed a little and shook her head. "No, not like a druid. Their system is very different to ours, but then you may yet see that for yourself."
Aisling stopped in her tracks. "We're going to Rome?"
Alwyn didn't reply, merely smiled grimly and continued walking, her hands folded neatly in front of her in the long sleeves of her robe.
"Fabius' son, Marcus, has been abducted. He's asked for my help in finding him."
"Why you?" Aisling interjected. "Surely he has his own warband?"
"Even the best trackers can find no trace of Marcus," Alwyn explained, her brow creasing slightly as she considered the scroll Fabius had sent. "In his message he hinted that there may be something more to his son's abduction - something that I'd be well equipped to handle where his soldiers may not. But his language was vague, and I can't be sure of his meaning until I speak with Fabius face to face."
Aisling brightened. "So we *are* going to Rome?"
Alwyn turned her head to regard her ward, bristling with eagerness beside her. "*I'm* going to Rome, yes," she replied evenly. "You have responsibilities here."
"None that my men can't take care of." Aisling shrugged. "Besides, if you're going traipsing off around a foreign land after some councillor's brat, you'll need a sword at your side."
"In truth, Aisling, I'd be glad of your sword, and your company." The druid's voice softened. "But you need to think carefully about this before you make any decisions.
"Rome is unlike any land you know, and its dangers don't always come under the guise of warriors and demons. Your people here rely on you, and while the warband may be able to handle the day to day affairs - and even the Slaying - I feel trouble brewing on Irish shores."
Alwyn saw the look of worry that crossed the chieftain's face at her words and strove to reassure her.
"There's nothing definite - no premonitions or such. Just vague omens and... and a disquiet in the air."
The druid trailed off, eyes staring into some far distance that Aisling could not see. After a few moments of this silence, it seemed that Alwyn had forgotten her companion completely. When the druid did speak, she seemed distracted, withdrawn into herself, or out of herself, Aisling thought.
"I can't tell you what to do here. The choice you make must be yours alone, as will the consequences that follow. Give this matter much consideration before you decide."
Aisling did not reply immediately, the two women walking in a contemplative silence by the dun walls.
"I'll do as you say," Aisling spoke eventually, her tone grave. "I'll think carefully on it. But I feel in my heart I already know the choice I have to make."
Alwyn sighed.
"That's what I was afraid of."
"You can't go alone, it's madness!" Eoghan shouted over the murmurs of dissent that resulted from Aisling's announcement.
"I won't be alone," Aisling assured her second in command. "Alwyn'll be with me and she's more protection than twenty of you lot," she added with a small smile to soften her words.
"Look, all we're going to do is find this lad and bring him back to his father. And I'll be back before you know it."
"Or you won't be back at all." Eoghan said as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, his face turning as red as his beard with indignation at the thought of his commander running wild in some foreign land without him.
Aisling glared at him. "I've made my decision," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Just make sure the dun is still standing by the time I get back."
A general grumble went up among the warband who had massed in the great hall. There was a general concern for Aisling's safety, but mingled with that was a certain envy that she at least may see some fighting this year. The summer months had been slow, and no battles of any great importance had been fought. Even the táins had been sparse, and a lack of raiding was a definite sign of a slow summer. Now the winter loomed ahead of them, promising dark days and darker evenings and their jealousy was understandable.
From her seat at the head of the great table, positioned just to Aisling's right, Alwyn viewed the men's disappointment with pity. Her instincts and some of her vaguer premonitions were telling her that they may see fighting sooner than they wished. She masked her concern as Aisling took her seat, Eoghan in tow.
The stocky red headed man sat silently fuming at Aisling's left hand while the chieftain stared straight ahead of her and tried to ignore him. A serving lad brought meat to the table, while one of the lasses poured mead. Alwyn declined the alcohol and Eoghan was too angry to think about food or drink.
"You're being a damn fool and you know it," he said eventually, unable to contain his ire. Aisling didn't reply, merely sipped calmly from her chalice. "The men are restless and you choose now to go swanning off on some fool mission to Rome."
"Where I go and what I do there are none of your damn business!" Aisling turned on her friend. "Despite your age, Eoghan, you're not my father and-"
"No, I'm not your father, but if Lugh was here he'd never stand for this nonsense." Eoghan insisted with a snort of derision.
Aisling's voice was ice when she spoke. "Well Lugh isn't here, and nor is Aodh, but I am. And as long as I'm in command, what I say goes. If you have a problem with that you can challenge me in open combat." Eoghan dropped his gaze at this, his anger receding. "I'm going to Rome, you're in charge while I'm gone, and for all I care you and this whole damn dun can fall to ruin before I get back."
With that she stormed from the table, leaving a shamefaced Eoghan and an inquisitive warband in her wake. Alwyn merely sighed and turned to the red haired man.
"It's not you she's angry with, Eoghan."
"No," he replied, "It seems to be everyone she's angry with of late."
"Yes." Alwyn looked to the door where she saw Aisling disappear up the stairs, wearing her self-righteous indignation like a cloak. "But maybe this journey is just what she needs."
"She will be safe though, won't she?" Eoghan turned to Alwyn for confirmation, knowing that if anyone had the capability to protect the Slayer, it was her.
"From all that I can protect her from, yes." She assured him, not voicing her inner fear that what was brewing inside Aisling was what she really need protecting from. But when she looked in his eyes, she saw that he knew that too. Both of them glanced once to the door Aisling had departed through, before turning back to the hall in a moment of silent understanding.
"She'll be alright," Eoghan said, as though the false determination in his voice could make truth of his words.
Alwyn didn't reply.
The sails unfurled, billowing in the fresh morning breeze as the Roman crew manoeuvred the ship out of the harbour and into open water.
Alaric stood beside Aisling, who was leaning over the deckrail, an unreadable expression on her face. Her eyes trailed from the pennant atop the dun, displaying her family crest for miles around, down to the gaily coloured stalls of the market where the cries of the traders were still audible.
A brief twinge of guilt clasped at her belly as she recalled the abruptness with which she had left, but quickly her more usual feeling of apathy returned. They could manage the dun without her, and her warband were well trained to deal with any possible demons that might arise. What did it matter whether she was there to oversee it or off in Rome? What did any of it matter really?
She was distracted from her brooding when she realised that Alaric had been speaking for some moments. Tuning in to his conversation, she was in time to hear him say "...kind of the lady Alwyn and yourself to make this journey."
Aisling shrugged non-commitally. "Least we can do."
"Fabius will be most grateful, I'm sure."
Aisling stood up straight and turned to Alaric. "Let him be grateful after we find his son."
"Yes of course, but..." Alaric squinted up into Aisling's face. The chieftain had a few inches on him, and the rising sun was framing her from behind in a burst of gold. "Well, if anyone can find him, it will be you and the lady Alwyn."
Aisling smiled at this. "You may be right in that," she said, clasping a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of reassurance she didn't feel.
Alaric smiled, placing his confidence in those he felt were capable of shouldering this burden, then turned to go below deck, leaving the Slayer standing alone.
She turned back towards shore, just in time to catch the glimmer of golden sunlight that the pennant on the dun flicked out to sea. It sparked for a moment an unfamiliar feeling of hope in her breast, and then it was gone, driven from sight by the black clouds that were beginning to gather overhead.
Aisling turned her back on her home, facing out to the darkening sea and the journey that awaited her.
Thanks: To the Da, for much caffeinated inspiration. Gareth, *puts listening hat on*, thank you yet again. And Anne, I really can't say enough. You're the best.
Aisling gripped the hilt of her sword tightly as she stepped from the chariot onto the paved street below. The familiar feel of her weapon was reassuring in the midst of the organised chaos she now found herself in.
Alaric had explained to them that wheeled vehicles were forbidden on the streets during particular times of the day, and so they would have to walk from the city centre to Fabius' house. Looking around her, Aisling wondered just how they were going to manage that. She had never seen so many people in a single place that wasn't a battlefield. Most of the people were on foot, though here and there she saw well-dressed men and women - mostly women - being carried through the streets on litters, the thronging masses clearing a path for them.
The Slayer turned back to the carriage, offering her arm to Alwyn as the druid alighted. The older woman stood and surveyed their surroundings, breathing deeply as her eyes took in every detail of the huge marketplace before them.
"I'd forgotten just how amazing this place is," she admitted quietly.
"The forum," Alaric explained for Aisling's benefit. "It's where most Roman business is conducted. We're standing on the Via Sacra, and over there," he pointed to the northern end of the vast square, "is where we're going."
"Then let's go," Aisling said, still looking uneasy. She had felt off-balance since they had docked at Ostia, and all during the chariot ride to the city itself she had remained silent, leaving the conversation to Alaric and her Watcher.
Alwyn smiled inwardly, and not unkindly, at her ward's discomfort. She remembered her first time in Rome, and the sense of being completely overwhelmed in such a vast, foreign place. She had been about Aisling's age then, and equally as humbled by the organised chaos of the city. Humility wasn't a notion that sat well with the Slayer, and Alwyn wasn't at all surprised to see the tension in the brunette's stance.
"Yes," she agreed, linking an arm through Aisling's and subtly prying the Slayer's fingers loose from her sword. "Let's."
They set forward, only to halt abruptly as a large man in rich purple-hemmed robes breezed across their path, surrounded by an entourage of various people. On the man's shoulder sat a squat, brightly coloured bird that squawked loudly as it passed. The Slayer followed the man's progress across the square, noting the bright glint of jewellery on his hands and around his neck. Some of the men walking with him were armed, and watching the crowd warily. Others appeared to be there merely for the purpose of being seen with him.
"Let me guess," Aisling turned to Alwyn. "That's a senator, right?"
The druid nodded. "I told you you'd see for yourself."
The Slayer shook her head as they continued on their way towards the northern end of the market. In the many basilicas that lined the square, money-changers had set up stalls and were noisily jingling coins in their hands to attract business. Their cries mingled with those of the various other businessmen, all vying for the people's attention. At the corner of the forum that they were approaching, Aisling noticed groups of people, all shouting as one. When she pointed this out to Alaric, he explained that these were the courtrooms, and as they got nearer, the Slayer could make out the louder voices of the lawyers within, making their cases heard over the baying of the spectators outside.
Soon they passed out of the forum, the streets beginning to get wider as they left the city center. Alaric led them down a street that housed many spice shops, and Aisling's nose and eyes were burning by the time they turned off onto a smaller side street. They turned left again, and suddenly they were in front of the most splendid house the Slayer had ever laid eyes on.
Gleaming marble steps swept up to a pair of solid cedar doors, flanked by a row of pillars. These pillars were made of the same white marble as the steps, and supported the overhanging roof. Surrounding the base of these pillars, intricate mosaics lent colour to the stonework, drawing the eye upwards to the impressive stone facade of the house itself.
On the marble steps of the house, three men stood conferring - heads bowed, tone hushed. As Alwyn approached, the eldest of the three looked up and caught her gaze. For the briefest of moments his grave features were pulled into a genuine smile, then his face once again clouded. Dismissing his two companions, he made his way down the steps and towards the druid.
"Alwyn," he greeted her warmly, his voice strong despite his aged appearance.
"Fabius," Alwyn returned, stepping forward to embrace her old friend.
The Roman was dressed in the senatorial toga that Alaric had pointed out earlier, the purple robes falling to his sandaled feet. His face was creased and weathered, the deep furrows in his brow due more, Alwyn suspected, to worry over Marcus than to the ravages of time. The senator's posture belied his age, Aisling noticed - his bearing was that of a much younger man. Every part of Aisling recognised this man as a leader, before he even turned his eyes on her.
Alwyn eventually stepped back, releasing her friend and turning to the Slayer.
"Aisling, this is Fabius." The brunette nodded briefly in his direction. "Fabius," the druid gestured to her ward, "this is Aisling. She's accompanying me here as a bodyguard of sorts."
Fabius inclined his head. "All those who come to the aid of my son are welcome guests in my home. It is an honour to meet you."
"Likewise," Aisling returned, sizing up the Roman. It was obvious to her - even after their brief interaction - that Fabius and Alwyn had a deeper connection than the Slayer had initially realised, and a deeply protective part of her was starting to rear its head. Aisling was naturally wary of anyone close to her watcher who could pose a threat, and the fond smile that the druid bestowed on Fabius did nothing to reassure her.
Her ruminations were interrupted as Fabius gestured to his house. "Please be welcome in my home. The slaves will take your belongings to the sleeping chambers."
Following Alwyn's lead, Aisling left her pack leaning against the stone facade of the house and entered the house behind Fabius, leaving Alaric to organise the slaves.
"By all that's holy..." Aisling couldn't hold back an exclamation of awe as she took in the interior of the house. Once through the main set of double doors she found herself in a spacious, open room, the ceiling of which sloped downwards to a large rectangular opening in the center. Positioned directly beneath this opening was a slightly larger stone pool, half full of water.
Directly across from the doors was an open reception room, where a desk sat covered in papers. Through this room Aisling caught a glimpse of what looked like a garden, then they were moving on, following Fabius towards another door.
"Come," Fabius motioned his guests ahead of him into the dining room. In the centre of the floor, a solid oak table stood laden with food. The wood was intricately carved, with leaves and vines encircling the legs in sweeping, swirling relief. Apart from the boar and chicken which Aisling recognised, the food itself was unlike anything she had ever seen.
The senator pulled out a chair for Alwyn, pushing it back into the table as she sat. Aisling took a position at the druid's right side, while Fabius took his place at the head of the table to their left.
Once all were seated, the servants approached carrying carafes of wine. Fabius sat silently while they poured, and waited for them to leave before he eventually turned to his guests.
"I am indebted to you both for coming. I've been sick with worry since Marcus-" Fabius' voice hitched at the mention of his son's name. "Since Marcus disappeared. I've tried everything I can, called in every favour I'm owed, but his trail is as cold now as it was when he first vanished."
"Fabius." Alwyn's tone was soft as she regarded the senator. "You know I'll do everything within my power to find Marcus and bring him back safely. Is there anything you've discovered, anyone you suspect that I should know about?"
Fabius shook his head. "Marcus is well-liked. Even his political enemies respect him. Since I started my search for him, many have pledged their support to me, but none have been able to find a trace of him. I'm desperate Alwyn, if you can't help..."
"We can and we will." Alwyn gestured to the Slayer. "Aisling and I will start asking around tomorrow. We'll find him, Fabius."
"Yes." Fabius' tone held no real conviction. For the first time, his eyes fell to the table before them and he shook himself slightly. "My apologies, you must both be starved. Please, eat."
Aisling barely managed to hold back a sigh of relief. She hadn't eaten since that morning, and the aromas coming from the array of food had been assaulting her since she entered the room. A heavy silence fell over the table as Fabius brooded, Alwyn mulled over their options, and Aisling ate like there was no tomorrow.
All three looked up at the sound of the outer doors opening. From his seat, the senator had a direct line of sight into the atrium and he stood, beckoning the new arrivals in.
Alwyn and Aisling rose also, turning to face the two women who had just entered the room. It wasn't hard to tell they were related - standing side by side with the same golden blonde hair and striking green eyes. Aisling guessed correctly that they were mother and daughter.
Fabius moved to stand beside the older woman, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it gently.
"Erinna my dear, you remember Alwyn I'm sure. And this is Aisling, they're here to help with the search for Marcus." He turned to the younger of the two - she was roughly Aisling's age, though a little shorter, and she was regarding the two visitors with a neutral expression. "Lysia," he addressed her. "You would have been but a girl the last time Alwyn was here, just after your brother was born."
Her green eyes flickered to the druid, but her expression remained indifferent.
"Aisling, this is my wife Erinna and my daughter Lysia," Fabius said, finishing the introductions.
Aisling nodded briefly to both women, but her gaze strayed back to Alwyn. Glancing to her right, Aisling saw her watcher's rigid stance, and then looked back to the senator's wife. The two women were staring each other down, eyes unblinking as the temperature in the room dropped considerably.
Eventually Alwyn broke the silence, her glare abating slightly as she attempted to reduce the rising level of hostility in the room.
"It's been a long time, Erinna."
"Not nearly long enough," the Roman woman muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Aisling bristled on her mentor's behalf, and Fabius bowed his head, expecting an outburst. Instead, Alwyn approached Lysia, smiling fondly at the girl while completely ignoring her mother.
"Lysia. You were just a toddler the last time I saw you, and your brother was a babe in arms. Look at how you've grown."
"You're here to find Marcus?" Lysia's memory of Alwyn was hazy at best, but the druid had certainly made an impression on the young child. Though she wouldn't have remembered Alwyn's features, the imposing sense of power had stayed with her, and now Lysia found herself in the presence of that power again. For the first time in weeks she felt a real sense of hope for Marcus' return.
"We're certainly going to try," Alwyn assured her. "This is Aisling, she's the chieftain of the dun I live in and a highly skilled warrior. Between us we'll do everything in our power to bring your brother home safely."
Lysia glanced once at Aisling before quickly looking away. She was used to the presence of soldiers and warriors in her father's house, but the sight of this barbarian woman, so obviously comfortable in armour and weapons, unnerved her. There seemed something unnatural about a woman - even a heathen one - displaying such familiarity with violence and warfare. Even Alwyn, who Lysia recognised as being far removed from the Roman norm, seemed refined standing next to the chieftain.
Meanwhile Aisling was more concerned with the sharp glances Erinna was throwing in Alwyn's direction. She stepped forward to capture the attention of the senator's wife, purposefully entering her personal space.
"I know you must be very worried about your son." Her tone was one that Alwyn knew meant trouble. It was the same tone she had heard the chieftain use when parleying with an enemy before battle. It was not a tone that boded well. "But I also know that Alwyn has powers and purpose beyond what you can comprehend."
"You seem very certain she'll find him." Erinna cut across the Slayer with a condescending smile. Aisling answered it with a falsely bright grin of her own.
"I'm very certain she should be afforded the respect due her. Especially with how she's here to help your boy an' all."
"Aisling," Alwyn warned. She moved closer to the Slayer, ready to restrain her ward.
Erinna drew herself up haughtily, gathering her robes around her. "Fabius, if you insist on bringing barbarian rabble into my home, you can at least keep them out of the way of your family."
"Erinna," Fabius' tone was conciliatory but his face was stern. "Alwyn is one of my oldest friends and is welcome in my home as my guest. Anyone who comes to the aid of my son," he nodded towards Aisling, "will be afforded the same hospitality."
With a snort of derision, Erinna turned to her daughter. "Come Lysia, we shall leave the heathens to their games."
"And if the heathen game brings Marcus home then what of it?" Fabius turned on his wife, but she was already leaving the room.
"Father." Lysia placed a comforting hand on the senator's arm, "Don't be angry with her, she worries for him too."
With a brief glance back at Alwyn, Lysia followed her mother out of the room.
"Well," Fabius expelled a sigh of frustration, "that went well."
"Did you expect different?" Alwyn queried.
"No." Fabius shook his head, a rueful expression crossing his face. "She always resented your presence. But what Lysia says is true - she worries for him. She'd never say it, but my wife would be eternally grateful for your help."
"I can't believe how much Lysia has grown," Alwyn commented. "She can't have been more than a couple of years when I was here last."
"She's quite a young woman," a rush of paternal pride coloured the Roman's tone. "She's displayed as keen a political mind as her brother has, and that's formidable. It's a gratifying feeling - watching the values you instil in a child take root as they grow older, knowing you've helped form an admirable citizen."
"That it is." Alwyn smiled at Aisling with a hint of wry humour. The chieftain merely smirked back at her.
"You'd be quite taken with Marcus," Fabius turned to Alwyn. "He takes after his mother in looks, but likens me in temperament - I can't quite decide if that's a good thing."
"Oh I think it is," Alwyn assured him. He smiled slightly.
"He's already well known in the Capitol. Many friends of good standing. He's popular, clever... why would anyone want to hurt my boy?"
Aisling looked away, embarrassed by the unshed tears in the old man's eyes. For the first time she realised just what was at stake on this quest. She wasn't at home on a raid, or skirmishing along unimportant borders - this family was grieving for a lost son, and Alwyn had promised they would do everything within their power to find him. Aisling felt her sword hang heavy by her side.
"I don't know," Alwyn confessed. "But I'll find out. And I'll find him."
Fabius looked at her, nodding silently, not trusting himself to speak. He grabbed his goblet of wine from the table and drained it in one long swallow. Slamming it back down on the solid wood, his voice was ragged when he did speak.
"Just bring my boy home."
Later that evening, Aisling lounged on a low couch in Alwyn's chamber, while the druid sat perched on the edge of her bed. Fabius had offered Aisling quarters of her own, but she had opted instead to sleep in the small antechamber of Alwyn's room. She assured the senator that the servant's bed would be more than adequate for her needs.
"So the senator's wife is none too fond of you it seems," Aisling commented, looking at Alwyn to see if she'd get a reaction. She didn't.
"We've never exactly gotten on well." Alwyn appeared to remain indifferent.
"But you and Fabius are close though?"
The druid caught the edge in Aisling's tone and pinned her with an intense stare. "I was never the other woman, if that's what you're implying."
"I'm not." Aisling stood, refusing to meet the druid's open gaze. Alwyn remained silent, knowing the Slayer better than that. "Well," Aisling shrugged, reluctantly glancing her way, "I might have wondered."
"And now you don't need to," Alwyn responded, but her tone was light. She was genuinely more amused than offended by her ward's curiosity.
Aisling dropped her guarded posture, spreading her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I don't mean to pry, you know. It's just... I mean, until this I never even knew you'd been to Rome."
Alwyn smiled and folded her arms across her chest. "I've been to many places you don't know about."
"Really?" Aisling settled herself on the floor by Alwyn's feet, looking attentively up at the druid. The older woman smiled, the familiar position reminding her of many hours passed in the dun, teaching a much younger Slayer matters of law and lore.
"Oh, places like Greece, Egypt, India..."
Aisling smiled a little ruefully. "You never mentioned."
"You never asked."
"Huh." Aisling dwelt on that for a moment. "Well I'll remember to ask in future."
"You do that," Alwyn laughed a little relieved that Aisling wasn't going to push for more information. Being around Fabius again had brought a lot of history back to her and she was in no mood for discussing it with her ward, certainly not before she'd had a chance to process those feelings herself.
Aisling stood and crossed the room to where her gear lay. Removing an oil cloth and whetstone, she began to methodically sharpen her blade.
The familiar swish of sword on stone allowed Alwyn to relax further, dispelling some of the inner turmoil she was feeling. Purposefully shutting out all other noise, she focused solely on the sound of the whetstone hitting Aisling's blade.
Alwyn was soon relaxed enough to fall into a light trance. The druid opened her mind to the higher forces around her, clearing her mind of all conscious thought.
Gradually she felt her body lightening as her trance deepened, and slowly the noise of stone on steel changed to a more metallic ringing, as of a hammer on anvil. Alwyn felt the air around her heating, and realised she was standing in the middle of a forge. Blasts of heat from the furnaces assailed her as she surveyed the small space.
Turning towards the sound of the anvil, Alwyn was greeted by a sight that chilled her in spite of the heat raging around her. Marcus lay bound and chained to a carved stone slab. His naked form was cut and bruised, even from a distance the druid could make out the scars and welts from previous beatings.
Arrayed in a semi-circle around the slab were nine cloaked and hooded figures. Eight of them wore brown robes, tied with a black belt. Their features were blurred and hazy under the hoods they wore.
The ninth figure was the one who caught Alwyn's attention. He stood easily over seven feet tall, and his great stature was enhanced by the aura of power that hung over him. His robes were midnight black, so sheer that they seemed to swallow all surrounding light, enveloping him in a shroud of pitch darkness. He did not wear a hood, instead most of his face was covered by an ebony black mask that left only his eyes and mouth visible.
In his hand he clutched a cruel knife, the twisting blade gleaming dully in the light of the forge. As he raised this over his head Marcus twitched in expectation of the blow and Alwyn cried out.
"Marcus!"
The dark-robed figure looked up, noticing the druid's presence for the first time. Behind the mask, his eyes flashed a bright angry red as they focused on her, then without warning, Alwyn was being torn apart. Tongues of pain licked at muscle and tendon as she felt herself being consumed by the overpowering force of his wrath. With one final agonised scream, Alwyn forced her mind away from the tortured vision.
"Alwyn!"
Frantically, Aisling shook the druid again, trying desperately to bring the older woman out of her trance. Sword and whetstone lay forgotten as she knelt at her watcher's side.
"Alwyn!"
With a sudden start, the druid's eyes snapped open, a pained and terrified look clouding her features. Aisling was disturbed to see her friend so visibly shaken.
"It's alright, Alwyn," the Slayer ran her hands soothingly over Alwyn's arms and shoulders, trying to calm her. "I'm here, it's alright."
Slowly, the druid regained her composure, wiping beads of sweat caused by an ethereal fire from her face and brow as her breathing returned to a more normal rate.
"Are you okay?" The Slayer tentatively took a seat beside her.
Alwyn shook her head. "Not really. It was..." She paused, recalling the details of what she had seen. "It wasn't a true vision, more like a warning of sorts."
"Was it about Marcus?"
"Yes." Alwyn's brow furrowed as the image of the young man in chains resurfaced. "He's in grave danger. And Fabius was right to send for me."
"Something mystical then?" Aisling couldn't curb the suspicion that entered her tone. Although she had grown up around Alwyn, and was less perturbed than most by druids and magic, she still found something unsettling about an enemy she couldn't fight by means of sword and shield.
"Something, or someone. There was a presence there. Powerful. It..." Alwyn broke off, a flash of remembered pain causing her to catch her breath. "It's strong, Aisling. Whatever we're up against here, it's strong."
She sat up straight, focusing on a point that Aisling couldn't see. "We have to head west. That's where we'll find him."
"Then we know where to start looking, and we know at least that he's alive."
Alwyn's face was grave as she stared straight ahead, unblinking.
"For now."
A knock on the door prevented Aisling from replying. Instead she rose and moved in long strides to the large set of double doors, throwing them open to reveal a worried looking Fabius with Lysia in tow.
"Is everything alright?" the senator inquired, looking over the Slayer's shoulder to where Alwyn sat. "We heard screams... shouting."
"We're fine," Aisling assured him, stepping aside so he and Lysia could enter.
Fabius went immediately to the low couch, sitting beside Alwyn and running worried eyes over her. "What happened?"
"I had a vision." Alwyn's tone was soft, but it didn't lessen the impact her statement had on the senator.
"Marcus?" His voice was choked as he tried to imagine any vision involving his son which could cause the screams he had heard from the other side of the house.
"What did you see?" Lysia's voice was calm, but Aisling could read the tension in her stance.
"He was in a forge. Not a smithy, more like one in a castle. Somewhere to the west of the city. Does that mean anything to either of you?" Both Fabius and Lysia shook their heads.
"Was he-" Fabius faltered. "Is he alive?"
"As far as I can tell," Aisling assured him. "What I saw, it wasn't so much a vision as a warning. Much of it may have been purely symbolic. Either way," the druid stood, folding her hands in the sleeves of her robe, "it will help us on our search for him."
"We leave tomorrow?" Aisling queried as she bent to pick up her sword, resheathing it and laying it across the small rush stool.
Alwyn nodded. "As soon as possible."
"I'll tell the slaves to make the necessary preparations." Fabius rose, moving to stand beside his daughter. "We should let you rest."
"We'll see you in the morning." Alwyn inclined her head to them both.
Fabius returned the gesture while Lysia linked her arm through her father's, leading him out of the room. When the doors had closed behind them, Lysia stopped, taking Fabius by the shoulders and turning him towards her.
"What has he gotten himself into?"
Fabius found himself caught off-guard by his daughter's question. "What do you mean?"
"Marcus has completely disappeared. The best trackers in the Roman army can't find the slightest trace of him. Now you have these pagan barbarian women with visions and swords screaming down our house. This is serious, isn't it, father? We may never see him again. We-"
"Lysia!" For all his years, Fabius' tone still garnered respect, and the young woman stopped immediately, looking into the stern face of her father.
"I know you don't understand, child. But try to remember that the land they come from is very different to Rome."
Lysia snorted. "That I can imagine."
"No, you can't." Fabius' eyes caught hers in a steady gaze. "You look at Alwyn and you think of the mystics in their temples, or the charlatans in the forum. They are little else but street magicians compared to her. Druids have power, child. The forces she communes with are ones you can't even begin to imagine."
Lysia digested this. She had never heard her father speak of anyone with such quiet respect colouring his voice. He almost seemed in awe of this woman. "But the warrior-"
"Is just that." Fabius anticipated her next question. "Aisling is a warrior. And if Alwyn holds her in such high esteem, then I'm sure she's a damn fine one too."
Lysia was still sceptical. "Alwyn told me she's a 'chieftain'. She rules land?"
"Yes," The senator nodded. "A chieftain has a lot of power, and responsibility."
"But," Lysia's tone conveyed her confusion and, to Fabius' ears, a slight note of longing, "she's a woman."
"Aye child, but not a Roman one. Their ideal of womanhood and ours differ greatly."
"Does she fight with the men?"
Fabius glanced at a point over her shoulder, his lips twitching slightly as a memory from years past surfaced.
"I fought alongside an Irish woman once before, when she led her clan into battle against a Roman battalion. They laughed to see this warrior woman coming at them, sword drawn. A dozen of them lay dead before they even realised she was upon them." The senator's smile widened a little further. "I think it's safe to say Aisling fights with the men. Probably better than most of them too. And for Marcus' sake, that's something I'm profoundly grateful for."
"You really think they can find him, don't you?" Lysia looked to her father with hopeful eyes.
"If Alwyn had a vision like that, disturbing as it may be, it reassures me that they are capable of it, certainly," he assured her.
"But just the two of them? What do they know of Roman ways? Wouldn't it be a good idea to send some troops with them?"
The senator shook his head. "Roman ways have not brought my boy home, and a large number of troops will only serve to slow them down. I have more faith in the two of them than I do in any of the army that have tried and failed so far." He placed a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder. "They will find him, child."
Fabius turned and continued on into the house, leaving Lysia standing in the small antechamber that lead into Alwyn's room. She stood there for a long time.
Dawn broke the next morning to find Aisling and Alwyn saddling two of Fabius' finest horses. A sleek chestnut mare stood bearing Aisling's gear while Alwyn settled her bags over the rump of her piebald. The horses were uneasy, picking up on the tension of the humans that surrounded them.
Alwyn hadn't slept well after her vision the previous night. Aisling, unable to rest knowing the druid was still agitated, had spent most of the night poring over maps of the local countryside.
Fabius stood holding the bridle of Alwyn's mount. Once she was happy with the arrangement of her saddlebags, she turned and took the leather straps from his hand.
"I'm sorry Lysia isn't here." He ducked his head in apology. "Last night upset her greatly. And Erinna..."
Alwyn placed her hand on the senator's arm. "I understand, old friend, this is a trying time for your whole family. It's important you be there for each other."
He took a deep breath, solemnly regarding the woman in front of him. "I'm indebted to you for this, Alwyn."
"No." She smiled, a wry twist of her lips. "You can be indebted to me when I bring Marcus home."
"Regardless," he insisted, "you were under no obligation to come this distance. And I'm grateful that you have."
The druid nodded, accepting Fabius' gratitude. "We'll do our best."
"Then I wish you good luck, and gods go with you."
Fabius' words were the most heartfelt Aisling could remember hearing in a long time. Once again she found herself struck by this man's open sincerity. Stepping forward and bringing her horse into line alongside Alwyn's, the Slayer inclined her head towards Fabius.
"We'll see you soon."
Though he knew this optimism was mostly for his benefit, Fabius was glad of it nonetheless. He nodded slowly and watched as Alwyn led her horse out, throwing one last reassuring glance in his direction as she did so.
As the sun rose over the distant horizon, Fabius breathed a deep and heartfelt sigh and re-entered his house. Shutting the door behind him, he spared a prayer for the two women who carried with them the final hope for his son.
Nearly an hour later, Aisling and Alwyn were making progress on the western road out of the city. They had travelled in a companionable silence since passing through the Portuensis gate and leaving the walls of Rome behind.
Aisling felt much more at home on the open road. The path they were on was not paved like those in the city of Rome itself, but rather made of packed earth that made the riding smooth. Trees towered on either side of them, shading them somewhat from the early morning sunlight.
Eventually Aisling turned to Alwyn and, seeing that she had the druid's attention, she broke the silence. "We're being followed."
"For the last hour at least." Alwyn turned in her saddle, throwing a casual glance over her shoulder.
"Should we do the polite thing and let them catch us up?" The Slayer's smile was predatory as they brought their horses to a stop.
Alwyn shook her head. "Eoghan was right." She laughed at Aisling's look of confusion. "He wagered I couldn't keep you out of a fight for more than a day."
The chieftain scowled good-naturedly in Alwyn's direction. "Just bear in mind I didn't pick this one."
"Never stopped you before."
By this time the approaching hoofbeats were clearly audible. The two women remained on their mounts, sitting seemingly at ease in the saddle. Nonetheless, Aisling's sword was never more than a heartbeat from her hand, and Alwyn was similarly ready to call on the forces she would need to protect them.
Soon they caught sight of the rider coming towards them. A light hooded cloak prevented them from making out any distinguishing features, but Aisling could see that the horse was a fine golden palomino. The figure looked up and saw the two women waiting in the road ahead. The golden horse slowed momentarily - apparently the rider had overestimated just how stealthy they were being - but then started forward at an even faster pace.
Aisling and Alwyn exchanged a glance. A single rider, charging straight at them - either very stupid or very confident. Aisling's hand strayed to her sword, just in case it was the latter.
"Alwyn!" the rider called out to them in a light, feminine voice, startling both women.
"Lysia?" Alwyn leaned forward, surprised recognition registering on her face.
The horse pulled up beside them and the rider threw back her hood to reveal golden blonde hair and flushed cheeks. "I wasn't sure I'd be able to catch you."
"Is everything alright?" Alwyn went immediately from confused to concerned. "Fabius-"
"No," Lysia hastened to reassure her. "Everything's fine. Except for the fact that my brother's missing." Here she pulled her horse abreast of Aisling's, a look of grim determination colouring her face. "And I'm going to help you find him."
"Oh no." Comprehension dawned on the druid. "Lysia, I realise how worried you must be about him, how much you must want to help him, but truly child, it's best if Aisling and I go alone."
The senator's daughter drew herself upright, pinning the druid with a steady gaze. "He's more than my brother. Marcus is, and has always been, my best friend. I can't just sit back while everyone else tries to help him. Besides, I can be of use to you."
Aisling rolled her eyes at this, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. Lysia glared at the chieftain.
"I know this countryside, I know the people and their ways. Besides, Romans will be more open to talking to me than to two foreign women."
"That's as may be." Aisling focused on the other woman in a critical appraisal. "But what happens when we end up in a fight, or you find yourself sleeping on the cold, hard ground instead of your nice feather bed. How are you going to catch your food?"
"I can hunt." Lysia's defence was weak, but her jaw was set in determination. "Marcus and I would camp together sometimes. He taught me how to fish and trap small animals. And I don't mind sleeping rough... not if it'll help get him home."
Alwyn was not unsympathetic to Lysia's desire to help her brother, but at the same time she felt a duty to Fabius to keep his daughter safe. One child had already been taken from him, he didn't need the fear of losing Lysia too.
"Still," the druid spoke as gently as she could, "what Aisling says is true. You're not a fighter, and if we find ourselves in trouble then looking out for you will only serve to put us all at risk. Besides, your father doesn't know you've come after us, does he?"
"No," Lysia replied. "And if we hurry, we'll be long gone before he finds my letter."
"Lysia-"
"I'm coming with you." The girl's voice was firm, but still sounded somewhat petulant to Aisling's ears. "I can either ride with you, or follow behind and eat your dust, and honestly - which is safer?"
Alwyn and Aisling exchanged a meaningful look, then the Slayer shrugged and turned in her saddle, leaving the decision in the hands of the older woman. Alwyn regarded Lysia coolly. The determined set of the blonde woman's jaw reminded her far too much of Fabius and his stubborn streak. With sudden clarity, she knew this battle was lost.
"Then you ride with us, but we send word to your father at the next town to let him know you're safe. The last thing he needs now is the worry of another child taken from him."
Lysia at least had the grace to flush slightly at the druid's words. "I can help you find Marcus, that's all that matters."
"Well not quite all," Alwyn shrugged. "But we shall see."
"Then let's get moving," Lysia said as she turned her mount and moved off down the road ahead of them.
Alwyn turned to her ward when the blonde was out of earshot. "Aisling?"
The Slayer sighed and turned to face the other woman. "This could be a very big mistake."
"She'd have come with us either way. And who knows, maybe it will prove useful to have her with us." Alwyn started her horse forward in a slow walk.
Aisling clucked to her own steed and fell in beside her. "I'll remind you of that when we're pulling her out of trouble."
"Aisling?"
The Slayer turned to regard Alwyn.
"Play nice."
...to be continued...