Reflect Upon the Mistakes that Brought You Here

It had been a difficult afternoon. Brother Forty-Three had spent several hours training with Captain Nightfire and her men. Gunnar had been pleased to learn that his host was not lacking in martial skill. Gunnar wasn't familiar with the particular form of hand-to-hand combat used here, but the monk flowed through the movements easily enough. Or would have, if he hadn't been wrestling with emotions too complicated for Gunnar to bother figuring out. Gunnar had no interest in the monk's concerns, beyond encouraging him to stay near Meirys and her host.

But the monk's distraction meant he took blows he should have easily avoided and spent a great deal of time on his back, staring at the sky, until Captain Nightfire had waspishly suggested that if he wanted a nap, he should do it away from her training ground.

So Brother Forty-Three had left the training ground and wandered through the manor, exchanging greetings with those who saw him and flinching each time he was called "Master Oakbranch" instead of "Brother Forty-Three". Even worse, apparently, were those who occasionally referred to the young man as "Obie". He was unfailingly polite, but avoided getting drawn in to conversation.

Until a pair of young bucks swaggered over with smirks on their faces, the taller one saying, "Back already? Couldn't cut it as a monk, little cousin?"

The monk replied with at curse and kept walking, but the other two men flanked him.

"What's it been, Ber?" the short one asked of the taller as he slung an arm around Brother Forty-Three's shoulders. In other circumstances it might have been a companionable gesture, but the nasty glint in the other man's eyes suggested it was anything but. "Six months? Seven?"

"Ffiteen," Brother Forty-Three growled.

"That long already?!" said the short man. "Ber, can you believe it? Fifteen months since little Obie stormed out saying he was going to be the greatest monk the country had ever seen!"

"No, I sure can't, Cobalt," the taller one said. He smirked. "I kinda thought he'd wash out in the first three weeks. Guess we underestimated him. But then, I hear he got himself tangled up with some grasping little tramp who wants to be a noble. And poor Aunt Snowpearl's so desperate for an heir that she's willing to put up with it, even though the feather-brained wench is ugly as sin--"

Brother Forty-Three had put an end to that with a vicious punch to Ber's throat. Cobalt jumped on him, wrapping his arms around the monk's upper arms from behind as he said with clear anticipation, "Well, well. Looks like little Obie's forgotten who the hawks are around here. Guess we need to remind him."

Ber wheezed in agreement before taking a swing at Brother Forty-Three's head. For a heartbeat the monk had hesitated, facing the coming beating with resignation. At the last moment he leaned his head away from the blow, and Ber's punch skimmed by his cheek and smashed into Cobalt's face instead. The other man's hold loosened. Gunner felt the monk's surprise, and then his host found his resolve and broke out of Cobalt's hold.

From his position as observer in Brother Forty-Three's head, Gunnar noted the other two men had some skill, but they were apparently unused to opponents who fought back. They made mistakes, and Brother Forty-Three took swift advantage of them. The fight was far from one-sided though. The monk was going to have more than a few bruises later, and probably one spectacular black-eye. But in the end it was the monk who was still standing when the fight was over, while Ber and Cobalt lay groaning on the floor.

"Guess you learned a bit," Cobalt wheezed, and then let loose a string of curse words. "Help us up."

After a moment's hesitation, Brother Forty-Six held out a hand and dragged the shorter man to his feet, then did the same for the other, who swayed on his feet a minute.

"So. Tell us about this woman of yours," Ber said.

"She's mine, that's all you need to know," Brother Forty-Three answered, stalking away.

Ber let out a short laugh, then whimpered a curse of his own before he called out, "Not what I heard. I heard she doesn't think much of you."

Brother Forty-Three had replied with a rude gesture, which only made the other two men laugh harder, which prompted more pained cursing. Leaving them behind the monk wandered for a few minutes before finally stalking through the manor until he went in search of his mother to ask which room Sister Forty-Six had been assigned.

"I put her across from you, dear," Lady Snowpearl said. Her tone was innocent, but there was a wicked glint in her eyes as she said, "I thought it best she have someone she knows nearby. You'll escort her down for dinner, yes?"

Brother Forty-Three just grunted and headed out of the room.

"That's quite the shiner you have, my dear. Better put something on it before your eye swells shut," Lady Snowpearl called after him. The monk had just grunted. But he did stomp his way down to an infirmary, where a wizened old man slathered the eye with something cool and sticky, treated numerous other cuts and bruises in a similar manner, and then made them lie down in a quiet room and wait for the medicine to do it's job.

"You should have screens or magazines in these rooms," Brother Forty-Three grumbled as he gazed around the bare walls.

"Why should I do that?" the old man had asked, pausing on his way out the door.

"So your patients have something to do," the monk answered. And the old man smirked.

"Oh, then you wouldn't have this wonderful opportunity to reflect upon the mistakes that brought you here," he said. He only laughed at the name the monk called him as he left.

Brother Forty-Three spent the next half hour or so doing everything he could to avoid reflecting upon his mistakes. Gunnar rapidly grew tired of eavesdropping on the other man's list of grievances and excuses, but ignoring the monk meant he had nothing to do but stare at the blank ceiling and worry about his own mistakes. And wonder what the hell Meirys was up to.

'We should check on them,' he informed the monk after a bit.

'Why? I'm sure Six is fine.'

'Maybe, but Meirys is with her,' Gunnar replied, recalling too late that he hadn't mentioned his mission to the monk yet. In fact, hadn't planned to mention it at all.

'Who is Meirys?'

'The . . . traveler . . . with Six,' Gunnar said as he mentally cursed himself.

Brother Forty-Three didn't respond immediately. Gunnar could tell he was thinking, but the man was keeping his thoughts to himself now. Gunnar waited, berating himself for stupidly reminding the monk of his presence. The monk had nearly forgotten about him, until Gunnar had stupidly started talking to him again. And he'd compounded that mistake by bringing Meirys up.

'I thought it said its name is Sera,' said Brother Forty-Three.

'She lied,' Gunnar answered shortly. Another stretch passed as the monk considered this information.

'Is Six in danger?' he asked. Then he gave a mental snort and clarified, 'I mean is she in danger from this Meirys woman. Obviously Six is in danger, or we wouldn't have left the infirmary.'

'Yes,' Gunnar answered without hesitation. 'Meirys is most definitely a threat to Six. We need to get her to leave.'

'How?'

And that was Gunnar's problem. He didn't know how to do it without more risk to Sister Forty-Six. 'I'm working on it. For now, we need to keep an eye on them.'

"Fine," Brother Forty-Three muttered. "I'll follow Six around like a fool."

He didn't sound nearly as upset about the idea as Gunnar would have expected.

A bit later the healer returned, inspected the progress of the sticky substance, and declared, "Alright, you can clean up and go."

Brother Forty-Three made his way from the bare room to an equally bare bathroom, where he washed off the sticky substance, then headed up to the top floor. He made his way down one of the many lavish hallways and knocked on a door, then waited. Then knocked again and waited some more. Finally on the third knock the door was opened.

Sister Forty-Six stood on the other side of the door. Brother Forty-Three and Gunnar studied the woman intently, the monk looking for signs the sister had been harmed, Gunnar trying to determine who was in control. The answer to Gunnar's question became obvious as the woman blushed and stammered, "Oh. Brother Forty-Three, I'm sorry for making you wait. I was--"

"We have an hour until dinner. You should get ready," the monk interrupted, his relief that Sister Forty-Six was still fine translating into rudeness. "Do you need anything?"

"No," Sister Forty-Six said, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I'll be ready."

"Good," Brother Forty-Three said, and fled to his own room. He wasted several minutes berating himself, and then showered and changed into a pair of loose tan trousers, a leaf-green vest, and a pair of green and brown slippers. He spent the rest of the hour pacing the room and shooting worried glances towards Sister Forty-Six's room.

Gunnar sighed mentally. He should have lied about the danger Meirys presented to the nun. Now he told the young man, 'You need to calm down. Meirys is dangerous, yes, but there's a reason she's here. She hasn't accomplished her purpose yet, or she wouldn't still be with Six. That Six is still . . . herself . . . suggests that so far she hasn't done anything at odds with Meirys's goal. Or tried to push Meirys out. As long as that remains true, Six will be safe. So we we need to make sure Meirys continues to beleive things are going exactly as she wants.'

That had the benefit of being both true and likely to get the monk to fret less.

"So what do I do?" Brother Forty-Three asked.

'Pretend you're worried about Six because of the man who attacked her, and nothing else. And do NOT let Meirys know I'm with you,' Gunnar instructed.

Brother Forty-Three stopped pacing and took several deep breaths to center himself. When he finished he glanced at a clock and apparently determined there was still time to kill, because he began to move through a series of practice forms that did far more to calm him than the deep breathing had. He went through the forms twice before glancing at the clock again and saying, "Time to go down for dinner."

He headed out across the hall and raised a fist to knock on the door opposite their own.

'Try not to be an ass,' Gunnar advised.

"I'm really tired of people calling me that," the monk muttered, knocking sharply on the door.

'Well then, stop giving us reason to,' Gunnar advised, earning himself a curse from the monk.

The door opened and once again Sister Forty-Six stood on the threshold. She, too, had changed her clothing. The plum colored dress she wore was much more flattering than the shapeless tunic she'd worn before. And she'd put on makeup, calling attention to her eyes and lips. She really was quite attractive, Gunnar noted.

To Gunnar's amusement, all thought left Brother Forty-Three's head as he stared at the nun, staring at her like she was a stranger. That thought killed his amusement as he studied the figure before them in an effort to determine which woman they were dealing with.

Once again, the question was answered by a blush as a nervous question, "Is it time for dinner? I'm ready."

"Guh," Brother Forty-Three said, and Gunnar was hard pressed not to laugh. Sister Forty-Six frowned at the monk, then flushed more deeply in embarrassment, fidgeting first with her dress and then her hair as the monk continued to stare at her.

"Is there something wrong? Do I need to change, or--" she asked, her voice trailing away as she looked down at the floor.

'Tell her she looks pretty, and get moving, boy,' Gunnar prompted. Brother Forty-Three started.

'She's not--' the monk began, only to stop abruptly. Gritting his teeth, he offered his arm and said, "You look fine. Let's go."

'You're an idiot,' Gunnar informed the other man. Brother Forty-Three did not disagree.