Chương 1584: [1491] – Y06.391 – The Heart of the Iyr I

The man of soil and steel sat upon the chair, the warmth of the fire tickling his skin as he turned the page, all the while the distant thrumming of music filled the air, the clattering of the knitting needles nearby accompanying his mind as he read his book. His youngest napped nearby, the toddler far too young to remember the joy that was the festival, though he understood what it meant, for the child ate so much food, and allowed the food to whisk them away to slumber.

It was this kind of life he expected those of the class above him to possess, though on some days he felt as though he was a noble, though those days were few and far between, but the fact he could feel like such, he, an adventurer farmer, it was a blessing from the Divine themselves. Harriet concentrated upon her knitting, for wouldn't their youngest look so adorable with tiny little gloves?

She had already made a few sets, but with all the patterns she wanted to make, she couldn't help but use more and more of the fabric her husband had requested to procure during their Executives' trip to Aswadasad, though the woman herself had spent far too much, her husband had spent even more.

The woman had all but forgotten how much she had berated her husband, who knew she would come around, as she had come around to joining the business, which afforded them the luxury of barely working for almost a year due to the Reavers, and remaining safe within perhaps the safest country for a thousand miles each way. John, who carried his bow even during the festival, yawned, escorting his children through the long roads of the Iyr, from stall to stall, enjoying the delicacies of the Iyr.

As the chill invaded his body, he felt a twinge at his shoulder, rolling his shoulder to force it away, though he understood it would require a few days of rest before he could continue his daily shooting.

'Don't fail me now,' John thought.

'I have to teach them all who the best John is!' He decided not to count Jonn, since his name was spelled differently, even if the other John, whose name was spelled the same way, also with three children, would join Jonn, not spelled the right way, in becoming the Executive's own personal guard. Ivy snoozed away in a corner of the Iyr, all but hidden from the world thanks to Charley's large form, the woman currently painting the back of her hand.

She had begun painting the back of her hands and arms, since paper was limited, and she could always wash away her body once the painting felt too stiff for her to move comfortably, though some of the design would linger.

Meanwhile, her brother, Greg, was currently allowing the Iyrmen children hang off his biceps, falling onto the snow once they could no longer hold onto him, for Greg was built like Nobby, tall, wide, thick with muscle, and thus he was the best play thing for the little Iyrmen, who wouldn't mind breaking the large auroch of a man. Greg wondered if this impressing any of the Iyrwomen around him, only to realise they were all the mothers of the children currently assaulting him with their viciousness.

'…' Ted settled himself onto a chair, for though he was not quite an old man, after wasting away for a few years, he certainly felt he was. Thankfully, he had regained much of his strength, though he was not quite as strong as his son, who had caught the eyes of such grand Iyrmen.

"Anne! If you keep this up, the Mad Dog will come and get you!" Annie snapped, trying to fix the girl's hair clip, which she kept taking off, even though it looked so pretty on her, and was worth quite the pretty silver! Anne furrowed her brows in bewilderment, though was thankful her mother hadn't been looking, for the Mad Dog she knew was quite lovely.

It was even during this festival, but a few hours previous, that the old man had seen her and handed her a sweet, before quickly charging away after a bundle of trouble. Meanwhile, her uncles, Remy and Jeremy, were drinking away their worries, their worries of having far too much silver for doing such little work, their worries of wielding such fine weapons, magical so they were, and wearing such fine armour, the kind only knightly fellows wore.

It was these kinds of worries which salted their emotions, and such delicious salt it was, they thought, drinking themselves until they were red and could speak unspoken dreams. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. In a solitary corner of the festival, a woman sat, reading a book an Iyrman had handed to her, wishing to reveal their family to the woman, who had read a book on so many families already.

Her heart remained trapped within the cage known as isolation, but it was not isolation which wounded her most, for the woman thought of her country, so far to the east, across the sea, even beyond the great roads, for it was a place that was once so beautiful, so full of joy, and now… Was it fair for her to enjoy herself like this, in the safety of the Iyr, in which the rumours were more than true, while all her people suffered?

Theo grunted, feeling the ache within his body, for though it was the festival, he and Thomas made sure to spar lightly every morning, while Alfie enjoyed his day atop a roof, understanding why others drank and lay upon it, finding a few other Iyrmen atop the roofs, and upon seeing the youth beginning to have their fun, he decided to head down, leaping off the roof, realising what a terrible idea it was midway through, though was thankful he landed in a soft pile of snow.

"He is handsome," the Iyrman said, rubbing her chin lightly.

"Jurot is training him too."

"Too bad his cousin is already taken," the other said.

"Should I claim him?"

"What of I?"

"I do not think he is into men."

"Yes, but I am handsome," the Iyrman said, taking off his hat, allowing his hair to dance in the cool nightval wind, for though he was no Kan, he was gifted by the Lady of Beauty herself, his pale white, almost ghostly skin contrasted against the deep black of his hair, which made even the Aswadians annoyed.

"Your mother worries so much," his companion confirmed, causing him to smile, though eventually his smile faltered, and she realised he probably understood that she had insulted him. Indeed, such a joyous festival it was, with the clash of steel soothing the Iyrmen's hearts. As the half elf returned to the estate, holding his wife's hand as he did, he spotted a figure in the distance. He was tall, handsome, wearing an axe at his side, the appropriate tattoo, and one eye was hidden behind a patch.

"Uncle Fakrot!" Adam called out, letting go of his wife's hand as he half rushed forward, as though he were a child himself, though he sped to a halt, approaching much more slowly with an awkward step.

"It's good to see you again!" Fakrot smiled, reaching out to hold onto his nephew's shoulders, though ended up accepting the young man's hug instead, patting his back gently.

"I apologise for taking so long to return."

"No, no, it's fine," Adam said, patting Fakrot's back, though pulled back, a large smile upon his face.

"Oh, man! The kids are going to be so excited you're back! How are you feeling?"

"I am well," Fakrot admitted, greeting his niece too, the venerable Ray Vonda, his heart half at ease for the children had not yet returned, and so he could brace himself. He invited them to sit with him, pouring the pair tea, though as he did, trouble arrived within the estate, as a pair of amber eyed bundles of Chaos stormed their way towards their father and mother, though each stopped in their tracks as they noted the other figure.

Jirot furrowed her brows for a moment, blinking rapidly, before her tiny mouth formed a circle, and she rushed up to the one eyed Fakrot.

"Baba! You are back!" Fakrot smiled, though it was strained, lifting the pair up onto his lap, feeling the strong hands clutch at his collar as they both hugged him.

"I missed you so much, baba."

"I missed you too," Fakrot admitted, bringing them closer to his chest.

"Are you feeling better now?" Jirot asked, rubbing her head against his chest.

"I am."

"I am glad you are well," Gangak said, reaching over to brush Fakrot's hair, though she summoned a hat out of her robe, and placed it upon his head, for though he was a Rot, he could only resist such cold during his dance, and he shouldn't allow the children to form such a bad habit.

"I am glad to see you are healthy, aunt." Gangak smiled, though she, like Adam, had noted a difference within Fakrot. He was leaner, slightly, but not in the sick kind of way, and though he did appear to hold the shadow of gauntness, there was something else about him. His axe was not the same as previous, freshly forged, so he must have retired the other for one reason or another.

"Kaka! Papa! Mummy!" called another bundle of Chaos, who caused great pain to her father, as the girl rushed up to the pair, only to find them upon the lap of an Iyrman she did not recognise. Her eyes glanced up to his tattoo, so she did not shirk away, smiling at him.

"Virot, look, it is baba Fakrot."

"Baba?"

"You remember, you silly girl, it is your baba," Jirot said, climbing off his lap to hug her sister, cleaning the snow off her front, while little Jarot did the same for Damrot, who eyed up the face he did not recognise.

"They were too young to remember," Fakrot stated simply.

"It is not so, baba," Jirot said.

"My sister, she is so much trouble."

"Ah?" Jirot side eyed her father.

"I wonder where she gets it from."

"You have become even funnier since last we saw one another," Fakrot said, smiling tenderly towards the girl. Jirot flushed slightly.

"I wonder where I get it from?" Adam threw a look to his uncle, smirking at him, for while he was gone, he had managed to claim more of their trouble for himself.