Lys: Take Charge

You may not have stomach for it. Aithne may not have stomach for it, but she will be eating it. Cathair knew what happened with Aithne did not eat. It was not good. Even if she ended up leaving it somewhere later, she would be eating.

He intervened on Aithne's behalf. "Aithne will be coming with me to the kitchen, then we will join you in whatever way your lord sees fit." Touching his hand to his forehead, he added, "Thank you for the offer. We will be back soon."

He helped Aithne up and directed her towards the kitchen, where he sat her down by the fire there. He busied himself with gathering food, much to the bemusement of some of the women. "I don't care whether there's a set meal tonight or not, you're going to eat something." He brought a plate to her and knelt next to her chair, smiling. "I don't need you fainting on top of everything else." he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Now eat."

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Where do I want to be? Aithne wasn't sure. She felt as though the Guttersnipe's chambers might be best- away from noise and bustle, in warm quiet peace. But she didn't want to miss Cunorix's judgement...

Fortunately for her, Cathair interjected, taking over in that roughish way she found strangely endearing. He never hurt her- never yanked her around or yelled at her- and he always had her best interests at heart, but when he took control there were no buts to be made. She simply trusted him to steer her true.

So she followed him into the kitchen and sat obediently, then fell all to pieces inside when she realized he was fixing her some supper. Faith, he can make a girl's heart go all butterflies...

"You know I'll never finish all this..." she said, chuckling.

"Eat what you can. Long night ahead of us, you know." He snitched a piece of cheese off the plate and she playfully slapped his hand.

But she did start eating. She tried not to think of how the council would end. There were too many gruesome questions to ask, and right now she was trying to get some bread and cheese down her throat.

She wondered if the Guttersnipe read Cathair aright, or if she misunderstood. He'd been polite enough- didn't storm off or anything, but with the Guttersnipe, one never knew if one took the right approach or not. Ah well. He'd tried, and that would have to be that. There were more important things in the air.