The TwiceBorn

The Constellation Of Her Shall Lead Me Home

"And every time you're full of sorrow... 

Every time you wake up crying...Know that that day...

Is a perfect day To shine--Andrea Gibson

Gre watched with sudden horror as Aubery got to his feet. Finn looked surprised, an expression he quickly hid away,but he wasn't fooling Gre. Finn had written Aubery off as a non-entity. Someone who didn't exist in his overall plan to...what? Acquire Islinn? Gre didn't know but it surely did not matter now. He watched as Aubery stood, his eyes scanning the room. He jerked his chin towards the bard.

"You need to think about telling him to stop. And for everyone else in here to shut up. I think they'll want to hear what I have to say too."

Finn didn't take well to people  that talked to him and started the conversation with "You need to..." Finn pursed his lips together as he looked up at Aubery, who grinned a wild and reckless grin.

"Gre...who is this?" Finn didn't even bother to address Aubery. Aubery's eyes narrowed at the obvious slight.

"He's...he's also one of Behrin's..men." Gre had a hard time wrapping his mouth around the word "men" and not because he was drunk. He'd downed quite a bit of the silky rum but it had disappeared at the sound of Aubery's stool scraping the wood as the boy got to his feet.

"Is he now? One of his...men?" A tiny smile lifted the corner of Finn's mouth. He heard the difficulty in Gre's voice. He gave Aubery a brief, cursory look.

"And this...story he has. Is it worth my time?"

Gre paused. Aubery had been longing to tell his version of how the Twiceborn died and Gre knew that it was a story that would change everything around him. But to what, he didn't know. The strange feeling that something was afoot was strong in him now, and why wouldn't it be? With Aubery shifting from foot to foot, his crazy eyes jumping from Finn,to the bard, and to the crowd. And always to Islinn, who was now paler than a bucket of milk, something was more than afoot, it was running madly about the room and Gre was the only one to sense it.

Islinn suddenly looked up and stared at him and he saw the same sense of fear in her eyes. She knew it too.

Brede, I am not a righteous man and never will be. In all of this blackness, make of me a brave man instead. Help me to find my strength through and in you because in this dark hour, all I have feared has come round at last. Make me brave.

The quick prayer ran through Gre's mind and he knew it was not his voice or of his own thought. He rarely prayed and the prayers he did pray were simple ones.

"Brede, help me not to fall off my horse" and "Brede, help me to make it to the next town before my 'skins run dry." Those had always served him well. The prayer that rose in his mind were not words he'd ever uttered or thought but oh how they shined like stars on fire, clean and pure and powerful in a voice unrecognized. And it was his prayer because there was a sense of hopelessness to the tone, one Gre knew and lived with every drawn breath.