1868-05-07: A Year of Waiting
A Year of Waiting
Summary: Emrys has waited a year to hear a word, any word, about his berothed Shirlyn. In the midst of war he finally recieves a missive and finds himself relieved.
Date: IC Date
Related: http://eternalcrusade.wikidot.com/memoir:1868-05-01:there-is-no-crying-in-4c
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Emrys  Gauvain  

Left  Beldrav  

When she left it was spring and everyone had returned from the hell that was Carnivale. It was like a whisper of a ghost. Smoke on the lawn and everyone was gone. Emrys noted her passing as a candle had been snuffed and the smoke of it still lingered. He knew she would fly as he calling off had her out. But when the first month came and went without a sign he began to worry, though never did he mention it or show it outwardly.

He wrote to her once. The manse in four corners and a letter sent to the bank, but neither word from her returned. Nothing from Left or Right. Still she could have been in deep cover and he'd not smoke her out by searching for her.

The second month and nothing again came. No moongazers nothing. Roses grew and wilted as soon as they were planted and he didn't keep fires burning. He drilled men and focused on his barony as if bringing that all up to snuff would be enough to get her back in line and see he was a man beyond the passions which he seemed ruled by. He would be a respectable Lord and husband. But again. Silence. Summer burnt on and despair turned in quiet stoic resolve. His anger burned.

Not towards her, persay. But towards something. Banditry tried its hand and the Lord dealt with it brutally.

Men were left hanging in the village of their birth. Their quarrels shot into them when they danced the hangman’s jig.

Likely it was to show any Fitzroy supporters he was not one to fuck around. But what seemed in earnest folklore legend was snuffed by the brooding lion. Small folk weren't nervous but the statement had been made. The barony slowly, but surely was rebuilding and the army growing. Knowing what he would do to bandits- those who needed work went to the militia and arms of the Lord. Those who could fight and stay sober were kept on. Others funneled off to other responsibilities, with the promise of the levy and tryouts should they amend who they were.

Still, as fall crept closer the Lion did not leave his den. Even for the Eve of Hallows he remained in and watched to the west, and the river as if that would bring her body down. No words drove him inward and like a Scrooge, he counted coins and drilled his men harder and tighter. By winter he was in formal black.

Lord Charing had written to say there was no refunds or so the gist was. Emrys didn't write back. His brother sent a missive to him and Emrys didn't write back. Chandus hosted some games and Emrys, of course, was cordially invited. But silence reigned in Tenebrae. A servant in passing offered an opinion to the Lord.

Mourn her and move on for surely she was dead or had moved on herself.

That one was flogged and sent back to her home.

His beard grew out and his hair was graying. The Black Lion was now a lion in winter. And then it came like glorious sun over discontent

A letter.

So stunned was he that he could not respond. His words dried up. And the following Sunday he was seen in church. Ragged but there, and lain himself prostrate before the altar. Alms were given and redemption seemed close.

Then he received two letters. A summons to war and to the other a call to Four Corners.
———————
To which he replied.
The short missive would have been delivered by moongazer, the Tenebrae seal easy to break

To Duke Gauvain Tarris: Lord Marshal of Galenthia
From: Baron Emrys Tenebrae, Your brother.

My Good Grace.

Tenebrae shall call her banners and come. For my silence, I promise you the resolve of my men and my steel to direct on the field.

Tenebrae
—————
Church bells ring through out the province. Men kiss their wives and the army churns slowly to Carleon, and then the South.

To Lord Beldrev
From Your Liege, Baron Emrys Tenebrae

Lord Commander,

Our banners have been called and as such my men will be marshaling and marching for the South. As ever the keeper of my lands, I march with my men. The home command is to you. Call up the militia that peace and security may flourish while to war we go.

Tenebrae

————

The following letter would come quickly by courier

Lefford,

I am coming.

No signature signed.

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