Guardian of the Night

8

Her husband ran a tight ship. Where other drinking establishments remained open to the small hours, Ranaie closed at midnight, sharp. He suffered no arguments and his loyal customers knew better than to try. That left the Timid Fox empty by the time Bilain returned, and she sat at the bar, a bottle of Yürzlend run set before her, nursing a drink that she had taken only sips of.

She could have returned much earlier, but had sat in her office, across the street, pretending to read through the day's reports, listening as the members of the night shift of the Watch went about their business, and wondering how it had come to a point where she could not face her own family.

The fires. She had stayed at her post, orchestrating the efforts without once leaving to give Ranaie warning, or, at the very least, sending someone, anyone, to take a message of caution. She had done such things before, but, for some reason, this time felt like a greater betrayal of her familial trust. It felt as though she had left him and little Amaini to the danger. Abandoned them.

The fire in the hearth had started to become nothing but embers and it only served to remind her of her decision. With a sudden flick of the wrist, she sent the warm alcohol slipping down her throat, refilled the little cup and repeated the move. Half-way through refilling the glass again, she heard a scraping from the stairs and, soon, Ranaie appeared, rubbing his eyes.

"A hard day, I take it?" Shuffling, half-asleep, Ranaie moved behind the bar, taking away the bottle of run and lifting a bulbous bottle of Garthaen brandy from its hidden position near the floor. "If you want to sleep, you need a couple of fingers of this."

He removed the little cup from Bilain's hand and replaced it with a larger, rounded cup, pouring the brandy into it, before filling a cup for himself. After taking a sip, he smacked his lips, letting out a satisfied sigh. He appreciated most alcoholic beverages, but he liked his brandy more than most. With a circle of his hand, he swished the contents around the inner surface, head drooped. He still hadn't woken up fully.

"You should be in bed, husband." Once again, Bilain drank the contents of the cup in one swallow, setting the cup back down and rolling it between her two hands. "It's too cold to sit around here."

"You should be abed with me, wife." After another sip, he passed from behind the bar, carrying the bottle and his cup in one hand, laying his other upon her forearm as he moved, heading toward the diminishing fire. "Come. Let me bring the fire back to life and we can talk beside the flames, as we once did."

He moved a table to sit in front of the fire, placing his cup and the bottle on top, before shifting two chairs to sit either side of the table. Bilain watched as he poked the embers of the fire with a fire iron before resting a couple of small, thin logs on top. He crouched, watching the logs begin to blacken and then, after only a short while, begin to catch aflame. With one last poke of the embers, he set the fire iron aside and sat back upon the chair.

The fire began to crackle, the two logs settling as they caught and began to burn, and Ranaie sat with his hands folded atop his stomach, the flames causing shadows to dance across his face. Even now, after all these years, Bilain found that man the most beautiful person she had ever met. Others would disagree. His nose sat a little too large upon his face. Lines upon his skin told of his ageing. As did the greying of his receding hair. But he was beautiful to Bilain. He always was.

"I ... I feel too much is expected of me in these recent days." She traced her fingers across his shoulders as she moved to sit in the other chair. Wide shoulders that still held a little of his muscular youth. "As you well know, I am not a learned woman. Put a spear in my hands, a sword? Patrons' blood! Even a fire log! That I know. I understand that. This?"