Kellin of Homana

The harper isn't moving.

It's been at least two days since he regained consciousness, and he hasn't moved or spoken. He's just half-lying, half-sitting against the side of the wagon, staring at his hand.

Kellin's worried. And feeling very murderous.

Someone is going to bleed for this.

Pain is the first thing that registers. It's been dull throughout the night, enough that his mind can shut it away and pretend that it's not happening. But now the pain is getting steadily worse, until he can't hide from it anymore.

He groans softly and opens his eyes. And flinches, seeing the Ihlini. Obviously working some spell, and from the way the cauterised wounds on his torso vanish it's a healing spell, but it hurts worse than what they put him through before and it's all he can do not to scream.

Pain. Pain and warmth and laughter. A jarring thud as he's dropped by the fireside, and he lets out a soft moan, his head spinning, bruises protesting.

He hears Tye's voice, filtering to the fireside. Then a hand in his hair drags him to his knees, and he's faced with four men, all tall and brawny and strong. A fifth sits on the other side of the fire, dressed in finely-tailored clothing, idly buffing his fingernails and watching.

Kellin musters his strength and kicks out at them, sweeping his foot low and fast, knocking one to the ground. He stumbles to his feet, making two steps before a blow to his right knee downs him, and hard hands take hold of his shoulders and hair, dragging him back to the fireside.



[ETA for violence and torture. Not nice at all, kiddies.]

( Abduction )

"We need to talk."

Kellin looks up as the harper approaches him. He'd come outside to think, to get away from Homana-Mujhar and Milliways proper. There's a lot that he needs to think about.

Tye approaches him, calm and unafraid, a longknife sheathed at his hip that he makes no move to draw or even touch in warning. Kellin, intrigued, gestures for him to sit down. Much as he still distrusts the Ihlini, he will hear him out.

"What have you to say to me? If it's recrimination or vengeance you seek, I won't gainsay you."

Tye sits down and shakes his head, his expression solemn.

"I'm returning to Solinde today. I was hoping you might come with me."

"What? Why?"

The harper lifts shoulders in an elegant shrug. "Because I want you to see that not all Ihlini are going to try to harm you. Myself and my companions are unallied Ihlini, we do not seek the destruction of the Cheysuli. We would be gone three days at the most. And it would get you away from Homana-Mujhar, which I gather is why you came here."

Kellin blinks. It's an interesting offer. But...

"You trust me enough to introduce me to your friends?"

Tye laughs softly. "I may not be good at defending myself, but Ashra can use a knife, and Siglyn has other methods of defending himself and us. We will not be in danger from you, Kellin. Nor will you be in danger from us. I give you my word on that."

He looks at the lake, considering.

Tye speaks up. "You hate Ihlini because of Lochiel, don't you? Because of what he has cost you?"

Kellin nods. "Aye. I've lost too many people, had too much happen, to be easy around your race. Much as Aidan trusts you, loves you," -- and that's still odd to think, that his father loves this diminutive man -- "I do not think I've come far enough to be entirely comfortable around Ihlini."

"Understandable. But perhaps this will make it a little easier for you. Enough that you can be easy around myself, at least. Aidan would like that, I think."

Aidan. He buries his head in his hands.

"I may have ruined any chance I had with Aidan, attacking you."

Tye's hand is gentle on his shoulder. "Perhaps not. Try this, Kellin? Please?"

He looks up, green eyes meeting green. "All right. I will go with you."

Tye smiles and stands. "Get together anything you think you will need. We leave this afternoon."

He's in Alex of Tirragen's room, watching the other man - not exactly sleep. You couldn't call that sleep, not honestly. Exhausted semi-consciousness, perhaps, but it lacks the healing of sleep. Kellin suspects Alex may be a long time healing from this.

Lancelot is still here, pacing. Kellin has been sitting with his back against the wall for the past few hours, watching Alex, occasionally checking to see that he isn't running a fever. They've splinted arm and leg, taped ribs, but there's nothing Kellin knows to do for head wounds, especially internal ones. They'll have to wait that one out.

Alex still isn't reacting to light. Touch, however, makes him flinch, so Kellin keeps all contact to a minimum.

He hasn't had to do anything like this before. It's almost a nice feeling, to be needed. But he's worried about Alex; physically he might be all right, but mentally, emotionally... Kellin has seen victims of attacks like this before. He doesn't fool himself into believing that Alex will escape unscathed.

"Kellin, I am tired of this pointless rebellion! We both are, Brennan and I! You're not doing your heritage any favours acting like this."

He sneers, not caring that the woman is his granddame. "I do not want to do my heritage any favours, Aileen. Or had you not noticed me forswearing it eight years ago?"

"Kellin." Brennan's voice is level, but Kellin can hear the anger lurking behind it as his grandsire's large hand closes around his upper arm. An upper arm that will be forever void of lir-gold, did Kellin have his way. "You will not speak to the Queen in such a manner, Kellin. Rail all you like at me, but I will not have you showing her such disrespect."

"Disrespect like you show her, always dreaming of something else?"

Aye, he knows. He knows what the courtiers whisper, that there is somewhere the Mujhar of Homana goes that nobody, even his twinborn brother, can follow. He might lack the gift that his father has, the Erinnish kivarna, but he knows.

His father. His mouth tightens at the thought of Aidan.

You abandoned me, father.

Aileen's voice cuts through his thoughts. "Ye skilfin, how dare you?"

"How dare I what, Granddame? Speak what is in everyone's mind? You are fooling yourself if you pretend otherwise."

Crack. The sound of flesh on flesh as Brennan slaps him, hard. Not hard enough to seriously damage him, but hard enough to hurt, hard enough to leave a red welt on one angular cheekbone. Kellin glares at his grandsire, and his hard green gaze is met by an equally hard yellow one.

"You are not too young to be disciplined, Kellin."

He pulls away from Brennan; the Mujhar does not try to keep his grip as Kellin twists away. A bitter sneer twists Kellin's mouth as he hooks one hand in his belt, shoving hair off his face with the other. Resisting the urge to touch a stinging cheek, he turns on his heel and walks towards the door, no longer inclined to share the evening meal with his grandsire and granddame.

"Do not just walk away from here, Kellin!"

"You cannot order my every moment, Brennan!" He shouts over his shoulder, using his grandsire's given name as a mark of distance. By now, he knows what hurts, and he uses it ruthlessly. He shoves the door open and strides through, cutting off Brennan's angry reply with the heavy bang of the door closing.