Serene Irene

"Castellan?" Swain asked confusedly.

"Yes lord, Castellan; An individual charged with the defense of a fortification, or in this case, Connacre Hold." By this time, the page had arrived and reached down to help Swain stand by shoulder, Simon crutching the other side. 

Swain stood around half-a-foot to a foot taller than the youths, probably 6'4 or 6'5, so when he rested his arms on their shoulders, it was at a comfortable angle.

As they began leading him towards the commotion, Simon questioned him, "Do you remember your ancestry? The house of which you belong to?"

"I'm eh, still uncertain of my status, let alone my ancestry." Swain replied awkwardly.

"Well, you are Swain af Menheim, third son of Fitzhugh IV af Menheim. You were raised with a noble education as were all the sons of the House of Menheim. However, of all the sons of lord Fitzhugh, you showed the most prowess for warfare. After your father's prestigious contribution during the first five years of the war, he was granted peerage, elevating him from a quasi-noble-knight to a Baronet. Yet, around five years ago, you came of age and were summoned by Marquis Frederick to serve in the garrison. It was only recently when the previous Castellan was struck dead that you ascended to replace him."

"How recently was this?" Swain moaned as he felt something pop out of place in his shoulder.

Just after his question, they turned right in the hallway which then immediately opened to a large room. There were two columns spaced evenly in the center of the room that held the ceiling at least sixteen feet high. The width of the room itself was fairly large. Several large swing windows were open on both sides allowing a cool fresh breeze to circulate as rays of the noon sun exposed the unsettled dust being expelled from the room. One would almost forget that a siege raged on if not for the distant shouts and the scene before him.

Strewn about on flax bedrolls were numerous men of all ages. Some men were whimpering in distress, a few of which had bolts piercing through various parts of their upper bodies while others were struck with arrows the same way. One man among the many even had a javelin that was protruding from his arm. He must have been one beast of a man as he made no noise and moved very little, though he was clearly conscious and suffering. One look at his defiant tomato-red face and the bulging veins in his neck would deduce that he was doing everything he could not to howl in agony.

'Woah. All of a sudden my pain doesn't feel so bad.' Swain heaved a guilty sigh of relief.

As Simon led him over to a cot that was being hastily prepared by several attendants, Swain caught a sharp shade of white entering through the front door of the large room. Upon glancing over he noticed a familiar female figure clad in pure white garments along with 2 attendants carrying a man on his side atop a gurney as he shrieked like a banshee.

There was an arrow that glowed a near translucent blue still stuck through both ends of his left liver. The glow flowed as though it were a flame from the barbed arrowhead to the end of the arrow shaft, weak licks of blue whipping at the base as the shroud of strange energy steadily ceased. 

Swain felt like his eyes deceived him as, upon a closer look, the man's veins radiated a steady and sharp blue, more so than normal people.

"Nearly two weeks ago." Simon's words interrupted his thoughts.

"Sorry? What nearly two weeks ago?"

"The Castellan, you replaced him nearly two weeks ago, lord." Simon replied with an odd expression before continuing, "Are you experiencing short-term memory loss as well lord?"

"Ah, haha. No, I'm just easily distracted right now it seems."

"Very well, here's your bed for now. We've managed to separate you from the rest of the men. It's unlikely for you to catch their sickness should they have any. Whenever the enemy lets up, we'll have you back in your quarters, lord."

Simon and the page gently settled Swain onto the cot before proceeding to gather a cloth from a nearby clean bucket. They then began wiping him clean again causing him to feel immensely embarrassed. He couldn't help but cringe at the thought of other people bathing him, though he couldn't quite do it himself right now and they were clearly unbothered. All he could do was attempt to think of another question to ask. As he could feel steam threatening to shoot out of his ears, he finally thought of something.

"Ah! Who is that anyway?" His gaze pointed delightedly towards the lady as though seeing his savior.

The two attendants looked at each other oddly before Simon began to explain, "She is Lady Irene, the Serene Lady around these parts, and the daughter of His Excellency Yeremi, the Bishop of Connacre."

Swain paused for a moment before muttering to himself, "Serene Lady? What type of status is that?"

Simon figured his lord was asking him, thus he proceeded to discard the cloth and lay Swain down to rest before replying. "Yes lord, Serene Lady. Only those who have attained a practical understanding of the nature of wild magic receive such a status. The only institution that really teaches this school is the Temple however, and very few people have an attunement with wild magic, thus it's really a privilege only afforded to those among the clergy."

Simon laid a thick cushioned blanket over Swain as he continued, "Many men have designs on her. By the Temple's conditions however, she must live a celibate term of five years of servitude to be afforded such a status. She is not at liberty to pursue courtship, nor does she seem to care to. I wouldn't even think about it lord."

Swain nodded with an understanding expression, "I see. I see…" before he noticed Simon's implication. "Wait, you think I want to pursue her?"

Simon's face flashed a wry glance before returning to normalcy.

"You used to. It was unsightly how desperate you were." Isabella's voice rang out just loud enough for the four of them to hear.

"Bell! Silence!" Simon hushed before turning to the page, a dark expression overtaking him as he whipped harshly, "If you wish to keep your ears, they didn't work properly just now. You may take your leave."

"Yes, Sir!" The page had drips of sweat sliding down his forehead in seconds before turning to leave.

"Lord," Simon hesitated, "Right now, all you must do is rest and recover. We'll figure out the details of everything else as things progress. I will return after a while, but I must assist in the defense against those savages. Rest well."

As he said this, he stood up and grabbed Istabella by the ear, whispering furiously as they marched away, "What's the matter with you! Tame your tongue you idiot! Do you realize he's a knight? If anyone else heard you slander the lord, your head would roll!" 

Swain could only hear up to that point before a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He relaxedly closed his eyes and tuned out the sounds of the soldiers moaning in pain. As he brushed the precipice of slumber, a last thought thundered across his mind before he fell asleep.

"Magic?"