Dullahan

1 - Childhood Games - 3

Loud knocking roused him from his sleep, breaking through the fog of half-consciousness that was so often filled with strange and seemingly meaningful dreams. He cracked open an eye, taking in his bedroom with disinterest. His trousers from yesterday had gone, taken by his mother before he woke for their repairs. It was early morning- the sun had risen, but it wasn't high in the sky. He burrowed a little deeper into his bedding against the chill, frowning as he tried to recall if he'd had any dreams. A few moments passed, accentuated by a set of heavy footsteps downstairs. He glanced to the floor, as though he could see through it into the living room below. Any potential dreams remained elusive, out of reach from his fumbling mind. Besides, his interest had been piqued by whoever it was that must have visited their home.

He hesitated, counting down from three as he psyched himself up for the chill that awaited him outside the blankets. On zero he tossed them from himself, shivering through his nightclothes, and hurried to the other side of his room. He collected his shirt and then rummaged around in his wardrobe for his other pair of trousers. The floor was freezing, and there was a draft moving across the floor that only amplified the chill. With the garments selected he ran back to his bed, jumping back into the warm spot he'd left only moments ago. He disliked autumn and winter for this very situation- the cold made it so much less enticing to leave the warmth of his bed. At least the bed was still warm, he thought to himself.

He changed beneath the shelter of his covers, lingering as his clothes warmed up to body temperature, and then, reluctantly, got out of bed for good. He folded his nightclothes, leaving them underneath his covers as he made the bed. He pulled on his shoes last, glad for another layer of insulation against the floor. Upstairs, the wooden floor got cold. Downstairs, in the mornings much of the heat had leached from the flagstones, leaving them freezing cold against his feet.

At the door he paused, catching the soft murmur of voices. The quieter one he resolved as his mother's, her words too soft to hear through the door or floor. Their guest spoke louder, the cadence of their voice slow and steady. He lifted the latch of his door, hearing his mother's voice suddenly raised. Surprise stayed his hand, and he stood frozen for a few moments. It was rare to hear his mother shouting. He pushed the door open, catching the tail end of a word before both voices went quiet. He moved cautiously across the landing, almost dreading what he would find down the stairs. He continued anyway, rounding the wall at the bottom to find a tall, armoured figure standing in the middle of his living room.

Eldred's eyes went wide in surprise- he'd never seen armour before, although he'd heard lots about it from his friends and from other children in the town or from other neighbouring villages. The armour was dark in colour, closer in shade to tarnish than silver. It gleamed in the sunlight filtering in from the kitchen window, sharp edges catching light and reflecting it in lines and patterns across the living room walls. The figure's helmet was on, eye-slit ominously dark. The top of the figure's helmet reached less than an inch from the ceiling, easily dwarfing the boy. He took a step back, feeling uneasy.

"It's alright, dear," his mother said soothingly, any hint of her earlier volume melted into the soft tone she used. He pulled his eyes away from the figure and looked toward her. She didn't seem worried or scared- if anything, he realised, she seemed annoyed. Her usual smile was strained, and she glanced at the figure with what he thought could be a warning look. "Come over to the kitchen, I'll give you something for breakfast and lunch, and then you can go and find Cal and May early, okay?"

He perked up at the offer- usually Eldred would have to complete chores before he left for the day, cleaning some such surface, weeding the garden, or running into the town for an errand, or to once more look for work there. The latter never came up with anything, most of the other folk in the town were wary of their small family of two and were reluctant to have much of anything to do with Eldred. "Without chores?" he asked, hopefully. The armoured figure remained still and silent. They hadn't even turned toward him, and if Eldred hadn't heard talking earlier, he might have assumed it was empty, or a statue. He wasn't even sure if they were breathing.