Lilee and Jamys sat on a soft padded bench next to the only window in the luxurious chambers that Sir Cynwrig had brought them to the night before. The couple had run out of words long ago, before the sounds of fighting died down, and now they gazed out the window in the direction of the Great Hall, waiting for any kind of news.
The past several hours had been hard on the couple. Nothing in their lives had prepared them for a night like this. Lothian Manor hadn’t been attacked since the Midnight Massacre almost a hundred years ago. It was supposed to be safe here. But tonight, the manor had been anything but safe.
Once Lady Ashlynn’s people entered the manor itself, Lilee and the room’s other occupants had heard the distant sounds of fighting in the halls. Sotis there was shouting and the sounds of armored n rushing by just outside the door. Later, they’d heard more people moving about the manor with several doors opening and slamming shut as servants sought out places to hide.
Soone had even tried to enter their room, only to give up when the barricaded door didn’t budge. Then, things had gone quiet until it seed like everyone gathered in the Great Hall scread at once.
The cries had been so loud and terrified that young Dalwyn Stormbrook climbed into bed with his mother and hid under the blankets while Lady Cerys comforted him with her uninjured arm.
Lady Eira tried to put on a brave face for Lilee and Jamys, but Lilee knew all too well the look of a woman worried about a man, and every ti she saw Lady Eira gazing out the window with tight lips and hands clutching each other, her suspicions that she was looking at her future daughter-in-law grew.
Sir Cynwrig’s armored presence, sitting in a chair by the door, provided both a source of comfort and of worry. If anything happened, he’d vowed to bar the door and protect them from harm, but just knowing that one of the knights of the realm was worried enough to have belted on a coat of mail while preparing his sword and shield told Lilee how much danger they were in.
And sowhere, in the midst of all of that danger, her little boy was...
-KNOCK- -KNOCK KNOCK- -KNOCK-
The pattern of short, sharp knocks at the door startled everyone in the room, pulling all eyes at once as Sir Cynwrig lifted the veil of chain mail across his face, securing it in place and drawing his sword before he moved cautiously toward the door.
"Who calls?" Cynwrig asked as his left hand wavered between retrieving his shield and moving the chair that was propping the door closed aside.
"It’s Ollie, Ollie Heartwood," a familiar voice called from the far side of the door.
Lilee’s eyes opened wide as she quickly ca to her feet. If not for Jamys’ hand steadying her and holding her back, she would have dashed across the room to throw the door open before the knight protecting them could even move.
Cynwrig rested the naked blade of his sword on one shoulder while he used his left hand to move the chair and open the door. He was certain that it really was Ollie; after the things they’d been through together, he would never forget the other man’s voice, but with his family behind him, and Sir Ollie’s as well, he took no chances until the door opened wide, revealing the battered and bloody figure of the Cypress Knight.
"Ollie!" Lilee cried as she pushed off of her husband’s lean fra, nearly tripping over her feet as she rushed toward her son. Cynwrig barely had ti to get out of the way before the auburn-haired mother threw herself at her son’s armored figure, wrapping her arms around him and holding on as tightly as she could.
Nine months of waiting and worry poured out with rough, ragged sobs and hot tears rolling down her cheeks.
The Ollie in her arms wasn’t the Ollie who had left nine months ago, and all it took was a single embrace to tell her that. The Ollie who left had been painfully thin, and she might have knocked him back with the force of her embrace. The Ollie who returned was like a strong tree in a storm, and the force of her embrace hit him no harder than a pillow in the hands of a child before he wrapped his arms gently around his mother and held her close.
"It’s all right, Ma," Ollie said softly as his mother buried her face in his chest and sobbed. "I’m ho. I’m safe, and I’m ho."
The Ollie who left always slled of woodsmoke, kitchen grease, and the sour odor of a boy who washed less often than he should. The Ollie holding her now was steeped in the scents of well-oiled steel, crisp, cool air, lush forests, and the sharply tallic and slightly musty scent of the blood that had soaked into his tabard.
He’d left as a kitchen boy and returned as a heroic knight, but Lilee didn’t care about that. All she cared about was the fact that he was standing here now... He’d co ho.
"Son..." Jamys said as he slowly approached the mother and son standing in the doorway. Ollie pulled one arm back enough to wave his father forward before pulling the older man into the embrace along with his mother.
"Pa," Ollie said, his voice cracking on the word as he held his father tightly while tears spilled from his pale eyes. "I’m ho..."
"Mmm," Jamys said softly as he held the most precious people in his world close. "Welco ho, Son," he said. "I, I’m proud of you," he added, as if he was afraid he wouldn’t have a chance to say it again. "Everything you’ve done, I, I’m so proud..."
"I don’t care about that," Lille said, pulling back slightly so she could reach up and cup her son’s face with a hand that was still rough from working with the harsh soaps she used in the manor’s laundry. "You’re ho, and that... That’s all that matters..."
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