The Warden | A For Honor Fanfiction

Explanation

Explanation
It was a warmer evening than most as I set a small stack of bowls by the cooking station. As I had suspected, our arrival at Nov Domas had been severely delayed by a number of factors. The sick and injured had slowed our pace considerably, not even considering the sheer size of our traveling party. Between the occupants of Herongale and the combined forces of Nov Domas and the remaining Iron Legion, there were well over one hundred souls marching to the castle. Only further delaying our progress was the nature of Herongale's people, with the exception of their Rangers, they simply were not accustomed to long periods of travel.

Still, it seemed that the Howls had anticipated such a thing. By the end of our first day of travel, we had stumbled not on an open field or deserted ruin, but a functional campsite with a skeleton crew of cooks and warriors. The camp was nothing extraordinary, plain white tarps lay extended over what looked like hastily constructed wooden stakes, providing meager, if not effective, protection from falling snow. Aside from the fires, there was no dedicated protection from the cold, though each tent did have upwards of three or four campfires within. Already these campfires had become crowded, with cooks working to prepare stew for the weary, and the remaining huddling around for warmth. Perhaps this was what had delayed the Midnight Howls so?

"It is good that you were all so prepared. I suspect many would have died had you not taken such precautions." I said, standing and looking at one of the cooks. The man tended to a large, wholly black pot as he stirred, his medium length hair tied behind him in a small bun, no doubt to prevent hair from falling into the stew. The man did not turn to acknowledge me as he nodded, keeping his attention focused firmly on the stew.

"Yeah, the lords and ladies are pretty good about that. Try to plan things out to the last letter." He said before taking a spoon and dipping it into the pot. He blew on the spoon once before taking a tentative taste of his creation. From the way his eyebrows rose and his head bobbed ever so slightly, I could tell he approved of the food. I admit, the smell had begun to waft over towards me, and it did smell rather appetizing. The cook was quick to set aside his spoon, instead reaching for a large ladle at his side.

"Hand me that stack of bowls you brought over, would you?" He asked, neither politely nor dismissively. I did as he asked and carefully moved the bowls beside him, opting to set them close rather than try to place them in his hands. The cook, seeing this, took the topmost bowl and poured the viscous mixture into it, bits of rabbit and carrot visible to me as he did. With a satisfied sigh, he handed the bowl to me, which I eagerly took. Without a word he grabbed a second bowl, and quickly began to fill that one as well.

"I should have it from here, Warden. Why don't you take these and find those pals of yours? I can send someone over with a third bowl later." He said, carefully inspecting the second bowl before handing that one to me as well. His offer surprised me. He was one of only a small number of cooks working to feed everyone, and with so many mouths, I had assumed he would need my aid for most of the night. As was, this was his first batch, only slightly behind other chefs.

"Are you certain? I have no complaints if you need additional help." I offered. The cook had already begun filling a third bowl as I spoke, and made no indication that he'd heard me. Instead, he looked up and set down his ladle, turning to the side as he began to wave towards someone, though who I could not discern.

"From what I've heard, you've had one heck of a time. Just take the food, Warden. I'll find someone else to help." He confirmed, never once looking at me. For a moment, I thought to protest, there were those who were much worse off than myself. As I had these thoughts, however, I felt my stomach rumble in anticipation of a hot meal, and my legs seemed to shake as my injuries pulsed. I do not know if I would call it weakness, but between my own hunger and my still aching frame, the cook's offer seemed too tempting to decline.