The Vampire & Her Witch

As Morwen approached the group gathered near the fallen oak, she could see Lady Cerys lying on a makeshift bed of cloaks and blankets, her face pale and drawn with pain. Sir Cynwrig knelt beside his wife, one hand clasping hers while the other rested protectively on her shoulder. His expression was a complicated mixture of relief, worry, and something that might have been guilt.

Sir Ollie sat a short distance away, leaning heavily against Milo. The flat-tailed warrior had one arm wrapped around the young knight’s shoulders, supporting him in a way that spoke of deep familiarity and trust. Ollie’s eyes were closed, his breathing slow and careful, and even from a distance Morwen could see the exhaustion that seemed to weigh down every line of his body.

He looked terrible. Worse than terrible. He looked like someone who had been through a battle and barely survived it, though there wasn’t a visible wound on him.

The horned warrior, Harrod, Morwen reminded herself, was standing watch protectively over Sir Ollie and his Eldritch brother. For a moment, a frown flickered across his face as he looked at the two ladies approaching, and Morwen found herself wondering if the Eldritch didn’t approve of women coming to a place like this, or if there was something else that disturbed the horned warrior.

”Sir Gavin,” Harrod said with a nod of acknowledgment. ”I feel like every time I see you, you’re bringing new friends. Is this really all right? To have so many people coming to see us?”

As soon as he spoke, Morwen felt her face flushing in embarrassment. Of course, he wasn’t bothered because they were women; he was bothered because they were strangers!

”Lord Loghlan asked Lady Eira to help with Lady Cerys,” Sir Gavin said, gesturing at the older of the two young women. ”And she brought Lady Morwen to help as well. They can be trusted, Mister Harrod, I swear it to you.”

”It’s true,” Eira said, stepping forward to greet the horned warrior. ”We won’t say a word about what we’ve seen here unless it’s to someone that Sir Ollie has approved of. We’re just here to help Lady Cerys,” she promised.

And Sir Ollie, Morwen thought, remembering what Eira had said about this being her chance. Though looking at the exhausted young knight now, she wasn’t sure what kind of tending he needed or what she could possibly do to help someone who had just performed miracles, even if he nearly died in the process.

”Where’s Dalwyn?” Morwen asked, suddenly noticing the absence of the young boy who should have been with his parents. Her eyes darted around the clearing, searching for any sign of Sir Cynwrig’s son. ”Is he alright?”

Cynwrig looked up at her question, and to Morwen’s surprise, he smiled. It was a small smile, and a weary one, but genuine, and it transformed his worried face into something almost peaceful.

”He’s fine,” Cynwrig assured her. ”Sir Ollie gave him an important mission to keep him occupied while we prepared his mother for the trip back to camp. He should be back soon.”

An important mission. Morwen wondered what kind of task a witch could give to a small boy in a forest of dead trees, but before she could ask, there was a rustling sound from the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing.

”Sir Ollie! Sir Ollie, I got them,” a young voice called out, and Dalwyn emerged from between the skeletal trees, his small hands clutching what appeared to be a folded handkerchief gathered at the corners to form an improvised sack. The makeshift bag was bulging with its contents, and the boy was practically running as he made his way across the clearing toward where Ollie sat.

Ollie’s eyes opened at the sound of Dalwyn’s voice, and despite his obvious exhaustion, his expression softened into something warm and encouraging as the boy approached.

”Did you, now?” Ollie asked, his voice rough but kind. ”Show me, then. Let’s see what you found.”

Dalwyn carefully set the bulging handkerchief down in front of Ollie and opened it with the reverence of someone presenting a great treasure. Inside were dozens, no, scores, of pine cones and acorns and other seeds that the boy must have painstakingly gathered from among the fallen trees.

”I got as many as I could carry,” Dalwyn said, and Morwen could hear the worry creeping into his voice as he looked at the collection he’d assembled. ”Is... is it enough? You said you needed as many seeds from the trees as I could find, but I ran out of room to carry any more, and I don’t know if I got enough of them...”

Ollie reached out and placed a gentle hand on top of Dalwyn’s head, ruffling the boy’s hair in a gesture that was both affectionate and reassuring.

”You’ve done well, Dalwyn,” Ollie said firmly. ”This is more than enough. You’ve worked hard and been very brave today, and I’m proud of you.”

The boy’s worried expression dissolved into a beaming smile at the praise, his chest puffing out slightly with pride.

”You’ll be a good squire if you keep this up,” Ollie continued. ”Just like Lady Heila’s squire, Emmie. She’s only a few years older than you, but she’s already learning how to help her lady with important work. She even taught Lord Liam how to help in the healer’s tents after the Battle of Hanrahan. If you work this hard when you become a squire, I’m sure you’ll be a great knight one day too.”

”I want to!” Dalwyn said, nodding his head eagerly when he heard Sir Ollie’s praise. ”I want to be a good squire like Emmie! Will you teach me, Sir Ollie?”

”We’ll see,” Ollie said with a small smile. ”For now, why don’t you go help your father? They’re getting ready to take your mother back to camp, and I’m sure he could use an extra pair of hands.”

”All right. I’m coming, Papa! I’ll help,” Dalwyn said, and with one last proud look at the seeds he’d gathered, he scurried off toward where his father and Sir Gavin were working on constructing a makeshift litter from blankets and a few sturdy poles that Cadeyrn had brought with the cart.

Morwen watched the exchange with a complicated mixture of emotions swirling in her chest. There was something deeply incongruous about seeing a witch interacting so gently with a child, praising him and encouraging him and treating him with the kind of patient kindness that she would have expected from a teacher or a beloved uncle.

It didn’t fit with anything she’d been taught about witches. It didn’t fit with the stories of dark rituals and corrupted souls that the priests told in their sermons.

But it fit perfectly with the kind-eyed knight she’d met last night, the one with the old-fashioned manners and the polite greetings who had made her heart skip a beat with nothing more than a smile.

Eira had been right. She did have good eyes. And if she was going to trust her own judgment about people, then she needed to see what was actually in front of her rather than what she’d been told to expect.