(LOG)Synaria's return

Athelyna walked as quickly as her old legs could take her, which, unfortunately, wasn't too quickly at all. Tears continued to rain down her cheeks. Her errand boy held firm hold of her elbow, stealing worried glances at the elderly woman. When the castle gates were in sight, she stopped in the middle of the road and turned toward the boy. "Go on now, child. Go to my shack, there are fifty gold Srylabat pieces in an old jar behind a brick in the fireplace. Make yourself a new life." The boy stared at her, paling. "Lyna..." he began, but she shook her head briskly and gave him a shove on the shoulder. "I said go on!" Though her tone was harsh, her eyes were soft when they set on him, full of love. Choking back his tears and confusion he nodded and gave a kiss to her cheek. "Goodbye then, Lyna." And off he went. When Lyna stood alone, she turned toward the gates. She could almost smell the fire she'd created there, nearly twentyfive years ago. Her fingertips aching. With a deep breath, she strode right up to the gates, her wild white hair flying in the winter wind. The men stared at her. "I demand to see the King." She uttered boldly, though her voice cracked with tears. "It's reguarding the cave." Her fists clentched tight when the men began to laugh. As if they'd allow an old beggar woman to simply waltz into the castle. "I have information he will want to hear. Let me in!" The men shook their heads. "Run along, peasant." one of them uttered when the amusement of it wore off. "I know about the undead! I know what the children found!"

Iaon. Sheridan Cray was a tall lanky fellow, blond unshaven features with wave locks, a lot of youth pouring through his appearance despite the hardness of a boy who'd been to war. He was milling about the courtyard for some fresh air as his shift ended, the noise coming from the gate garnering his attention. At first, he wasn't going to bother with it but his curiosity drew him steps closer. Close enough to hear the last phrases being yelled up to the walled guards. Crazy old woman or not, some authority sounded like it were needed. With the guard captains not easily reached, he recalled passing Iaon in the hall. Thus in rushed pace, he hastened up the stairs and through the door, calling for the castellan about a situation he should see. Side by side, the two young men approached the gate, Iaon's head tilting at the snow-matching woman. "Can I be helping ye, good maam?" his attempt to be polite was always the first response to most situations.

Tamarilyn had been fortunate enough to be among the first to hear about the crazy woman outside the front gate. Finally free of the damnable healers that had insisted upon keeping her bedridden for what seemed like an eternity, the girl had hastened out to the courtyard to get a peek at the proceedings. Walking proved slightly more difficult than she remembered it-- her reckless refusal to stay abed had slowed her healing considerably, and the weeks laid up had weakened her muscles somewhat. She tucked herself up against the wall just within earshot, among the thin crowd of curious servants and nosy squires that had arrived already. In her roughspun grey cloak, attired like one of said squires, hopefully the girl would remain unnoticed...

Athelyna had continued her back and forth with the men for some time, and from time to time, she slipped into a strange language that, thankfully for her, none of them quite recognized. It was strange, to see such a disheavled old woman speaking in those graceful tones, even with the pleading in her voice. When Iaon arrived at the gate, she stared at him for a long while, her head cocking slightly to the side and mistook him for a man long-since dead. "Oh Christoph, thank gods. These men won't let me in. I need to talk to the King." Her withered old fingers curled around the bars, chilling them enough to hide the warmth that was growing from frustration. "I know what the children found out in that cave. I've answers for him. And if poor Princess Maeryn got bit by them and is turning black like my little Sparrow's hand did, I've the cure to stop it from spreading. Please, please tell them to let me in." Her eyes gazed around the growing crowd of squires and nobles she didn't recognize.

Iaon continued to bridge the gap of space between them, the small gathering out front being sure to make way for him, until he was just on the other side of the entry. Christoph? Was she mistaking him for Lord Tsalkond? Not very likely. And while some of the old woman's banter seemed completely away from sanity, the bits that were true enough had caught his attention. "M'name's Iaon, good maam. What's this about blackness and cures? What be ye name?" Some of the guards were looking rather annoyed that he wasn't shewing the old bat away. Even Sheriden looked unimpressed as what had happened with the caverns weren't exactly uncommon knowledge.

Tamarilyn's stance changed subtly to reflect a shift from idle curiousity to genuine interest. This woman knew about the things that had attacked them? The girl had to bite down sharply on her lip to keep from immediately firing a barrage of questions at the old woman. The cloaked girl skulked closer, craning her head to get a better look at the crone on the other side of the gate. Maybe she's one of the walking dead herself, the girl reflected rather unkindly on Lyna's looks. With arms folded snugly over her chest, she watched-- the woman, Iaon, and the castle doors behind them. She was certain it wouldn't be long before someone sent word to the king.

Athelyna's old watery eyes landed on Mari for but a moment before shifting back, with genuine surprise at Iaon. "Iaon?" She seemed to shrink back for a moment before her mind cleared a bit again. "The undead, they've a poison in their spit. If they bite down and it gets into the wounds, it creeps. Blackens, kills. I've the cure to stop the spread, if any of the children need it." She was sobbing again, her old head pressed against the cool bars that blocked her. "They found his lair. It needs to be sealed away. There's other things in there, other traps that might not have been tripped yet. You need to tell the King to burn it and seal it off before any more of the children get hurt. Please, I beg of you." Her blues seemed to darken with her seriousness to the deep sapphire that they truely were, her hold on her looks becoming increasingly harder to keep hold of in her agitation. "If you won't let me in, please tell him." He'd asked her name, and she paused. "My name? I... I don't even remember it anymore," she whispered. She could only remember her true name, the one she'd been using since her return to Nharati slipping from her memory.

Iaon looked on the poor thing with more pity and sympathy than he were heeding the warning, but the information wasn't being ignored either. He slapped the back of his hand against Sheriden and leaned a whisper to go inform someone in the court to bring word of what she'd said to the King. He would know more about Maeryn's situation than Iaon did. Maeryn wasn't staff and as much information passed through his office, he never heard anything about plagues or disease from the three girls left in the castle's care. though he couldn't speak for Naiia. His full attention then returned by the time the aged women whispered in her confusion. "His Majesty has taken care of the dangers, good maam. There be no needing getting all warked up about all that. And those girls are all fine, healing up nicely too. I donnae know what ye've heard, but ye can relax. Alright?" Iaon offered a quaint smile, hoping it would appease her with just that. though he really did wish he'd gotten a name from her. Just in case she needed to be found again. Things had been anything but normal around here afterall.

Tamarilyn pushed off the wall and stepped up alongside Iaon to look through the gate, studying the woman. "Naiia Alexston... Lady Alexston was bitten." She'd been there when it had happened, and according to the rumors, she'd yet to recover properly from the injury. "Whose lair?" she demanded sharply. The girl eyed Iaon, "His Majesty will want to talk to this one." she informed him quietly, discreetly. It was worth a shot, though she had some doubts as to how credible she'd be, being that she had no particular public association with the king besides being one of his many wards-- and even then, she hardly looked the part of noblewoman at this particular moment. "She's an old woman. Surely you can let her in a moment to sit and gather her wits."

Garnett The Queen Mother's carriage happened to pull up in the midst of all the confusion, Garnett arriving from the house she'd taken in town. Despite the whispers from the guards that she ought to stay in her carriage until the matter was settled, she swept out, shoulders draped with a heavy cloak in Valenti blue. Jade eyes surveyed the gathered crowd, her ears picking up Mari's voice. Her head swiveled toward the girl. The lair? Her already pale face went ashen, but she stalked forward. "Who is it that wishes to speak to my son?" There was a rare bite to her tone, the question addressed generally as her stern eyes swept from Mari to Iaon to the woman that was clinging to the gates. No recognition yet, but her gaze remained hard on her, Garnett's hands clasped calmly at her waist.

Athelyna shook her head at Iaon. "I'm quite sure that he hasn't. You might think so, he might think so. But I assure you, he doesn't understand what the children have stumbled onto." There was a strange properness in her tone, that certainly didn't match a supposidly uneducated beggar. "Yes, Naiia," she uttered quietly to Mari. "My little Sparrow. But she said her blackness was all cut away." Her tone became sorrowful again. "I was too late to help her." At the demanding question, Lyna's deep eyes pierced the girl, but she did not answer. Silence enveloped her as the crowd began to part, that red hair coming into view. Lyna's hands dropped from the bars, her eyes wide. A slow step was taken backward. The urge to run away biting at her mind, but her heart refused to let her. It was time for this. With a deep breath, her haunched body straightened into a perfectly regal posture. "I am," she answered quietly, ",Sister."

Iaon was the compassionate sort, but his noodle still sensed something wasn't quite right. Gut instincts tend to be listened to. Still, when the cloaked girl began asking questions, he felt off-balanced. All the more so when he met eyes with her, recognizing her but not quite placing with where. He had a lot of faces and names to remember afterall. Even people he met daily could get lost in that shuffle now and then. The disturbing words of familiarity with the Alexston and the warnings accompanying it weren't helping either. A new voice entered the fray but seconds after, where he bowed himself cordially, lagging his head to the side to call for the gate to be opened. Despite the aura of danger he couldn't shake, Mari was right. There was no reason to be speaking through bars in the cold of winter. He were just about to warn the beldam of her fingers on the gate before it began to clank open, but was quite surprised as it might as well have been some supernatural transformation as the old woman revealed herself to be something more than she pretended. No doubt throwing the guards near Iaon to grab at the hilts of their blades.

Tamarilyn's nose wrinkled... Naiia had spoken with this woman? How did she know all of these things? The sight of the queen mother gave the girl pause-- Garnett had changed very little from the vision Mari had of her in her memory from a time before the late Lord Wenfrith's death, the trademark bright hair identifying the woman immediately. A brow shot up at the crone's greeting to Garnett--these Valentis certainly had some interesting secrets! A hand disappeared into the cloak she sported, grasping the hilt of a dagger concealed on her person-- any move on the old woman's part toward Garn would see the knife thrown through the opening gate and squarely between the mystery figure's shoulderblades

Garnett knew an instant before she said that word who the woman was. Those blue eyes had not changed so much. Rage, white hot, flashed through her, the world tilting beneath her feet, and it was all she could do to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. So many things wished to pass her lips, but she was frozen there, staring at the woman she had once called sister with undisguised fury in her eyes. Finally, she wrenched her gaze away to pin it on the guards, not an ounce of hesitation in her voice. "Arrest this woman for crimes against the throne, and take her to the south towerwith heavy guard." If she was who she said she was, she would remember that one...where Evangeline had met her end so long ago, well outside the castle grounds. "She is correct on one matter. My son will wish to speak with her, as will I."

Athelyna watched Garnett's fury without flinching. She also heard the subtle clicks and scrapes of drawing weapons. Instead of any sudden movements, her arms lifted with deliberate slowness and turned to the side, her hands balled into fists, the bottoms of her wrists exposed, in obvious readiness for shackles, even before Garnett issued the order. "I failed everyone," she whispered. "and I'm tired." Those blues pinned on Garn heavily, tears rolling silently. Lyna took a deep breath, and as she released it, her disguise melted away. Her wild white hair turned sleek and black with several strands of aged silver. Her face smoothed out and bronzed. All that was left of her wrinkled face was crows feet at the corners of her eyes and worry lines at her brow. That blazing fire encased brand now exposed on her cheek. And Synaria stood, waiting for the shackles in all her glory, and in the rags of the beggar woman Athelyna.

Iaon watched the encounter as the gate finished its haul open, allowing the guards on either side to encircle her at a distance when the command was given. He just stood aside, watching with narrowed eyes at this whole affair full of things he clearly didn't understand. Or rather, what he was learning to understand was more disturbing than he first imagined. None of the soldier were quick to maneuver after such a show, fearful of the potential magic that could be used against them should they try. That was until a grizzly bear of a veteran shoulder wedged his way through the others with a graveled murmur, "Grow a backbone." He took a stance beside former crone, saying nothing to her as he grasped a thick hand around one of her wrists, the others finding a little more courage as procured shackles were brought forward to clasp on her, drawing her arms behind her should all go as intended.

Tamarilyn's lips pursed as she watched Garn's expressions shift. The girl took the details in and then beat a hasty retreat into the castle, gone before anyone would notice, before they could stop her.

Garnett almost, had the years not ground the hatred into her, could have found similarity in the woman's tears and words, but her lips simply set into a thin line. The transformation, if it shocked every single one of those surrounding them, seemed not to effect the Queen Mother, her icy gaze resting on that brand for several long moments as they shackled her. "You have much to answer for, Synaria, and I will hear those answers. I hope this means you will give them willingly." It was plain from the edge in her voice that she intended to get them however she must. With that, she turned sharply on her heels and nodded to the guards. "Get her out of my sight, and if she escapes, I personally will see to it that after you scream for every moment of pain this woman has caused the Valentis." Refusing to let the trembling show, she stalked into the castle without a backward glance.

Athelyna did not struggle against the man as he twisted her arms behind her. The lock clicking sounded too much like freedom to her. Her head shook at Garnett's words. "You still think me a criminal. After all this time, I thought you would have finally saw passed your hatred and opened your eyes enough to see that I saved your life, and your sons lives. If not for me, you would have all parished." Her voice was quiet, but only from the sorrow of current happenings, and it was quite obvious she was not cowed by Garnett's temper. "You have all the answers already, but you refuse to see them because you think of yourself and your own pain. But I will tell you anything you wish to know, and more." At the mention of her escape, Synaria looked back at the man holding her shackles. "Your men need not fear. I am not going anywhere. I am ready to die in that tower." She tossed a glance over her shoulder at the retreating Garnett. "Do not keep me waiting too long, Sister. Or you will find me a corpse and you will have no answers at all."

Iaon saw to it himself to head with the guards to take the newly acquired prisoner to the tower. The big fellow holding the shackle chains while the others lead the way. Most of them were still very cautious of her, but the rallying of the Queen Mother, Iaon, and the brute gave them the courage to hold to their duty. As for Iaon, it was his full realization that he wasn't just looking after some old castle that happened to settle in the capitol.