(514-06-01) Mourning and Comfort
Summary: Dywana is on her way to Tisbury with special cargo while Bradwyn is on his way for vengance. What happens when they meet, well…
Date: 514-06-01
Related: Unnamed Feeling I: Hatred and The Loss of Family
bradwyn dywana 

River Nadder Salisbury
May of the year 514. — Tue Jan 26 11:51:43 2016

Small springs and streams in Morgaine's Forest join in the darkness of the woods, gathering to form the River Nadder. It flows through forested hills out of the west, heralding towards the east to join the Salisbury Avon. A few manors are in the more forested sections to the west, leaving the woods themselves less inhabited by the Cymric of Salisbury at least. It joins with the River Wylye near the city of Wilton, becoming one force, flowing to the west.

A small group has set out from Sarum, making it's slow way towards Tisbury. The group seems to change from time to time, but there is one family guard; either a cousin or some such from St. James, the Huntswoman Erylys of St. James, and then Dywana herself, atleast at this break on the road.
A cart pulled by a lovely little black packhorse, is covered with a beautiful blue cloak and there are flowers and herbs and other such things tucked around a bundled form. Dywana herself is standing next to the cart at the moment with her head bowed, the winds whipping around her in her simple blue dress, her cloak seems to be missing.

Steady clomping is heard on the road ahead, picking up speed as it isn't long before a horse and rider are seen approaching at high speed, someone is in a hurry. Coming from Tisbury Sir Bradwyn de Idmiston notices the group approaching and slows his horse to more of a steady trot so as not to potentially run anyone over. Drawing closer still the six foot knight on his horse nods to each as at least some appear to be nobility. Then Dywana is spotted and the horse stops fully. Dismounting Bradwyn offers a very formal and respectful bow, very different than the last meeting, there is no playfulness, not flirtation. Seems he has learned who her betrothed was, "You have the sympathies of myself and my House Lady Dywana." in a serious, solemn tone. There is very much a sense of a deeply personal sincerity in his tone as well, far more than many would likely think from the man.

The tiny woman doesn't seem to notice the rider arriving, and it's only the cousins that watch to see who and what is coming so near there tiny group. With a nod from the huntsman they let Bradywn come nearer to Dywana and a soft clearing of a throat brings the tiny one's eyes up and over towards Bradwyn.
If it is possible, this tiny and very pale version of Dywana is even more unusual as very very pale blue eyes peer over to Bradwyn as if trying to focus enough to know who he is. Finally though she blinks gently and then offers her own curtsy, falling back on learned traditions. "Thank you, Sir Bradwyn.." Her voice is soft and while the emotions are held tightly, it's clear any moment they could break wide open. The woman is holding on by a thread.

Bradwyn moves to Dywana as though it'd take an army to stop him from offering his sympathies even if they did try to stop him. Noticing her delicate state however the tall man stands and moves forward, and if not stopped he'll wrap his arms around her. There is no flirtation, no suggestion, it isn't even a friendly hug. If allowed, or simply given before any can react, the pagan simply holds her, as though to supply himself as something to lean on, to offer comfort and support through the trials Dywana is facing. Whetehr she or the others know how Bradwyn felt about Hadyn or not, Dywana was to marry him which for the tall man means she was almost a sister. And as pagans are more open about public displays like this, he disregards etiquette to try and offer the comfort and support he can to someone clearly hurting badly.

Dywana would have been surprised before, but in her state she simply let's herself be gathered up and pressed against his larger form. There is a little shaking and shivering of her form, one arm wrapped around her stomach and the pressed between them as she just leans there silently. But he can feel and hear how hard it is for her to hold into her emotions, a soft little breaths go faster and depending on what he is wearing he can soon feel tiny drops of wetness as the woman tries hard to stay silent.
The linger scent of flowers and a rainstorm seems to cling to her and makes her grief that much stronger.

Bradwyn is wearing simple clothing, likely due to traveling. Feeling her shiver and noting the scent of rain he reaches a single hand up to remove his cloak and asks, "Has she not been covered from storms?" to the rest of her party. Not overly accusatory, as they might have simply removed the cloak, but his voice is stern as he wraps his cloak around her, likely swallowing her up fully given the size difference. Once the cloak is around her, both arms are once more around her as he leans over and tries to whisper into her ear, "It is okay. I'm going to make sure they pay. Grieve, mourn, and know he will be avenged." His tone is stern, unwavering, as though he alone could track down the murderers and destroy them utterly like the wrath of an angry god. If it wasn't known before, adn if she is aware enough for the words to be held, it is clear this is extremely personal for him as well and he fully intends to honor his words.

Another little shiver, but it's hard to tell if it's from cold, or not. Added she has always smelled something like a storm among nature, maybe something to do with the water goddess she serves.
But something in his words causes her to look up at him slowly, those dark red curls looking of blood against the very paleness of her skin, but those ice blue eyes seem to sharpen as they look up into his face. "I was there.. he ran him through with a sword… and then /twisted/ it before anyone could do anything. I could not save him.." The words are harsh and demanding of justice, as well as so full of pain, fury and hunt that it could effect even some hardened warriors, that cared about romantic love atleast.

Bradwyn nods and says, "I promise you, when I get ahold of them, the twisting of the blade would be the best they can pray for Dywana." foregoing formality once more, this is a personal matter for both of them, etiquette can take a flying leap. He tightens his grip around her, since she is talking perhaps she is more aware and can feel the embrace better, feel the warmth, the restrained muscles aching for revenge as much as she is. His cloak around her shoulders.

There is awareness in those ice blue eyes, a color he's never seen on her before, but she does just watch him for a long moment before she bows her head to him. "May the Goddess bless you in your desires.." She whispers it against his chest and then she seems to notice where and what she is doing, but another deep breath is given, as since to her Bradwyn smells much like Hadyn in a round about way, she relax and slides one arm around him in return, her face buried now in his chest.

Bradwyn allows the arm around him and just holds her close and whispers once more, "We will have our revenge, and may the gods bring you peace." as he does his best to try and kiss the top of her head reassuringly as though to show all will work out, he'll make sure of it.

One good thing about being pagan and the Priestess she is, she takes nothing wrong by the touch and embrace, does she wish it was someone else? Right now, of course, but she also doesn't shy away as if she is defacing a memory. But finally Dywana will pull away, reaching up to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand as she gently pats his chest after. "You will be safe, I can not deal with another loss.." Simple words but there is steel in her voice, her eyes falling from him to the silver chain on her wrist and that sadness once more appears. A bite of her lower lip as she tries not to cry, her fingers do move from her stomach to gently trace the chain. For those who understand it is a handfasting chain that one would give to a true love. Worth atleast half of what a Knight makes in a year.

Noting the chain Bradwyn takes a knee to bring himself closer to her eye level and says, "Dywana, even a priestess is not made of stone. Allow the gods to help you. Let fall your pain and suffering, allow them to help bring you peace. None here will speak a word of it to another or they will face my sword. I will not speak of it for I know the pain you feel well, and I would fault none for letting it out." He then attempts to pull her closer so she can cry into his shoulder if she hears his words and does as he suggests. If she resists he won't for it, but if she does give in and let go he will hold her, letting her tears fall and even gently stroke her hair in a soothing gesture if permitted. Who would have thought a tall flirt of a knight had such a heart, and could express such sympathy and wisdom?

Dywana might have known there was more under the Bradwyn the world saw, but her live had changed so much in such a short time, that it makes her pain that much greater to have come so close to a blessing of her Goddess and then to lose it in such a way. But his words are a breaking point, and while her cousin would look on with concern, the tiny form of Dywana does break down, atleast they are shadowed gently from most prying eyes on the road. She collaspes slowing into the much larger form of Bradwyn and just cries, heart breaking, wracking sobs, that turns her into something she never thought she's be. She is the one normally giving comfort, not accepting it. But she cries as if her heart is being torn out, as if that sword sliced into her and not just Hadyn. She sobs her pain, fury and helplessness into poor Bradwyn's chest. Poorpoor Knight.

Bradwyn wraps his arms around Dywana to keep her from fully collapsing to the ground and holds her close, letting her cry. After a few moments he actually adjusts his grip a bit and stands up, lifting the tiny woman in his arms, possibly looking like a man carrying a child and just holds her close and tight, one hand stroking her hair as he whispers to her ear, "May the gods take your pain Dywana. May they ease your suffering. May they bring us justice. May they less you once more and greater." as he continues to hold her, wrapped in his cloak, stroking her hair, letting her cry as his words are said as equal parts comfort and prayer for her.

Dywana doesn't fight, the fight has been taken out of her for the moment, she had never collasped like this yet, so Bradwyn can be blamed for that later. He is as close to Hadyn in family and height, so maybe none will be to distressed at the scene that is unfolding, but the tiny woman just let's her loss flow like water over the poor form of Bradwyn..

Bradwyn grows silent and simply holds the tiny woman, letting her vent her pain and loss. He doesn't care if he is blamed or not, and he seemed serious that if any tried to imply anything or call her weak for this outburst they'd answer to his sword. He does however take a few steps to the side, mostly to get her out of the middle of the road in case others come along. He leaves the others with the cart, his horse having wondered to the side but not too far to dig in on some clover.

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