Crosstalk

Osthryn wills herself to stand from the breakfast table, shoulders still stiff as if she were rolling boulders uphill for the past two days. Apparently, this is nothing like what she was when Silovar dropped her off after their "rondezvous". She is sure Silovar had some explaining to do, with how Oswald and Martina took one look at her pale exhaustion and immediately rounded on him. From Osthryn's perspective, she arrived home with thoughts like tangled thread and thoroughly tired from the transforming and flying. From Martina's perspective, apparently, Silovar dragged in a torture victim.

While this assessment is an exaggeration of both her own condition and Martina's opinion of it, Osthryn learned two things: that she speaks in her sleep, and that Martina is a very over-cautious host. Osthryn thought Martina was exaggerating when she first heard her say that she was like a child in a delirious fever that first night. Osthryn was tired, and had much new information to deal with, but she certainly was not so poorly as to appear ill, was she?

She was soon put right by Oswald's lengthy discussion of her "funny ramblings", however. Still. Osthryn will stubbornly insist that illness is no such thing that can befall a Dragon, however long they spent their lives in human shape.

"Osthryn, really, you don't have to go to the library so soon!" Martina urges gently.

"Oumee Martina, I am hazard to even admit that only my shoulders are a bit sore. Two days' forced rest is more than enough. Besides, how else will Oswald process all those queries that he undoubtedly has after listening to my hazy rambling?" Osthryn smiles evenly, taking her cup and plate to the washing-basin. Martina's chair squeaks as she moves to take the crockery from Osthryn, but Osthryn is taller, and simply blocks Martina off as she begins to scrub them.

"You were ill, darling, quite so. The Library can stand without you for at least one more day." Martina huffs.

"I think I rested well enough, Oumee Martina. Besides, Dragons do not fall ill."

"Well, clearly, they do! I have half a mind to drag Silovar by his ear after all this -- pushing you to fly before you were ready, staying away for two whole compass-rounds like a coward when he inevitably upset you, and once he is back, takes you flying and makes you fly yourself, whatever that could mean!"

Osthryn gives a warm chuckle at the old woman's flustered expression, "And apparently I  was sulking too much."

Martina tuts, "That Silovar. Fools rush in where the gods fear to tread, and he rushed headlong into your deepest fears!"

Osthryn gently sets down the dishes to dry, "I would hardly call it that."

Martina looks at Osthryn with a guilty expression, somewhat tempered by her matronly appearance. "You scream in your sleep, sometimes. Often. I find it helps if I sit with you. You speak in your sleep too. Often with children, as far as I can tell." Martina rushes to clarify at Osthryn's falling expression, "Oswald sleeps like a log. The only ramblings he knows of are these most recently. I haven't told a soul."

"No, Oumee, it is not that. I apologise for being a disturbance, I was so afraid that I might have woken you or Oswald when I had my dreams, and each time it appeared that I did not. Apparently, that is not true."

Martina shakes her head, placing her hands on Osthryn's shoulders, "Osthryn. You may be old enough to be my grandmother ten times over, and I don't have right to the detail of your past, but I don't mind sitting by you when it haunts you."

Osthryn's expression softens, and she grabs hold of the smaller woman's elbows. "I appreciate your kindness. However, I must insist that I am quite well. It is likely only the emotional and physical reality of flying for the first time that has me this tired." Osthryn squeezed Martina's elbows, the latter letting her grip fall from Osthryn's shoulders as she turns to leave. "Or, perhaps," Osthryn winks over her shoulder, "Silovar dropping me off his back mid-air multiple times caused me to catch some violent sort of cold."

Martina could have had an apoplexy with how wide her eyes stretched, "He did what? The damnable, stupid man!"

"Is it not the same as being rowed near your death at the rapids?" Osthryn teases. Martina lifts her finger, "That was fifty years ago, and don't take the pleasure of my anger from me with apt comparisons!"

"I bid you a good morning, Oumee Martina. I shall see you this afternoon," Osthryn greets the irate woman, who mutters as she turns back down the passage to the study. Osthryn lights down the steps, shutting the door behind her. Ready to finally begin a normal day again.

Osthryn is scarcely out of the door when she finds herself blocked by a stern, wrinkled face wielding a crooked staff.

“No, no, no. This will not do!" Oswald grumbles, looking Osthryn up and down.

“I am fine, Oswald. Just a bit tired. I have spent so much time convincing Martina that I am late already," Osthryn protests with a sigh, moving to push her way past him.

“No! No! Not at all, this will not do. Not in the least. Martina!" Oswald calls sternly, grasping Osthryn by the elbow and holding his staff aloft as he pushes through the front door. Osthryn allows herself to be dragged back into the house, rolling her eyes at the undue concern.

“Yes, Oswald," Martina calls from the study, “what is the matter?"

“Nothing is the matter, Oumee," Osthryn tries. “I am fine..."

“This ... kirtle ... shall not do in the least! We shall need to find something more appropriate for her to wear, and quickly! Can you not help, my darling lady wife? You are so much better versed in the things of the Court than I!"

Osthryn freezes, dumbfounded.

“The Court, Oswald darling? Have they summoned apprentices this time too?" Martina asks, motioning at the pair to follow her.

“If she were going simply as my apprentice, I would have no problem simply having this kirtle of hers neatened up, but as it happens, she has been invited directly!" Oswald splutters impatiently.

“Directly? By whom?" Martina asks, stopping at the door of her and Oswald’s bedroom.

“Not only has Osthryn been invited, into a den of wolves, there is a true boiling point confirmation of my theory that precipitated it that I am not eager to have her confront unarmed!" Oswald huffs, only noticing now that he had carried his staff all the way down the passage. With an offended stare at the object, he firmly sets it against the wall.

“Who has invited her? And whatever do you mean by arming her? And why am I only hearing about this now?" Martina asks with her hands on her hips.

Oswald shifts his pointed stare from his staff to his wife. “That insipid fool, Silovar! Not a warning, not a second can be given for Osthryn to blend in. Look at this! The braid and kirtle will mark her as a foreigner immediately, and the silverware, it will lay her disguise bare!" Oswald rages, the pitch of his voice rising in tandem with the gesticulating of his hands.

“I would, directly, like to know what is happening!" Osthryn interjects, gratefully reclaiming her elbow from Oswald when he relinquishes his grip on her.

Martina smiles at her with a show of conscious patience at this revelation, clearly having years of experience of deciphering Oswald’s ramblings. “It appears, Osthryn, that my dear husband has been summoned to the Keep’s Court along with all the other Court Mages and Scribes to deal with some magical dispute, and Silovar is due to arrive with a sanctioned invitation for you to accompany him to the audience."

“You make it sound so trivial, Martina. The king concerns himself with this matter very deeply, for which I am grateful. However! I am not interested in having the Dragon in my charge given any more attention than is necessary. Silovar might be a court mage able to handle himself, but Osthryn is a foreigner, and will be noticed by those that should not. This incident in particular is not ideal."

“Now, my dear, this does require some extensive explanation on your part," Martina sighs, “I do understand helping Osthryn in her wish to remain anonymous as far as we can, but what happened for this meeting in particular to be so risky?"

“Another boating accident, involving the young prince," Oswald says gravely.