Post by Gemma MacFusty Wenlock on Oct 12, 2018 17:36:12 GMT -5
Gemma had always hated An Caillteanach.
It was worse now, more than ever. Needles were digging a thousandfold into her head, and she was bloody weak. She was older, she was strong, and still it wasn't good enough. Like hundreds before her, she was prey to the illness that swept across the country, and like them all she wasn't much spared the impacts. There were a thousand places she'd rather be than here, a million. And yet. . .here she was, on the stupid cold island she'd grown up on.
The Matron had said sick folk couldn't be in the castle, and she hadn't wanted to go to Pyxis, and it was the perfect time to be renovating their home. So An Caillteanach had been the only place she could go. She'd be joined by bloody Morgause and her brood, because of bloody course they still lived there. Gemma had never thought she'd been one to wish Morgause was well, but there it was. It worked out, maybe. With Morgause sick, at least she didn't try to talk to Gemma much. Supposedly. Morgause's brood (she had never been able to tell them apart, nor had particularly cared to do so) were mostly sick as well, but they'd gotten the bright idea that it would be a good idea to put the sisters together. In the old cell that had once served as their bedroom, too. If Greg hadn't been so concerned with the rest of their family, it wouldn't have happened. As it was, Greg was preoccupied, worried about their niece and Odelia. She couldn't blame him for such, but she was his wife, and where was he when she was so inconvenienced? Winning the Uncle of the year award, hopefully.
She gave a huff, pulling her robe tighter around her as she crossed to the narrow opening that passed as a window. It was sweltering hot, fires roaring high and only amplifying the old charms on the broch. She needed air, she needed--
"Tell me," her voice was hoarse from coughing and vomiting, from lack of use. "'Gawse--" the rarely-used childhood name leapt from her throat, and Gemma didn't catch it in time to correct it. "I'm making things up. I'm hallucinating. We're in no fit state--"
Her sister leveled a glare at her back, one that prickled the hairs on Gemma's back. "Don't call me unless it's important."
If she'd had her magic, if she wasn't sick, Gemma would have forced the torchlight to flare in the room. better yet, she wouldn't be here during the worst parts. "Morgause Anna MacFusty, I swear by all that is magical, if you don't pick up your bloody arse off the bed and tell me if I'm wrong there might not be a bloody An Caillteanach for you to lounge around in."
"What's so important that you. . ." Morgause's voice trailed off. "Oh. How did we not hear that?"
"It was storming." Gemma's palms were sweating. The dragon-- no, she didn't know it by name, it had been too many years and she had rather less magic than she would have wanted. The quickest way to subdue it, to drive it away required such, and her own was far too shaky. "How many of your children are here, how many can. . ." she didn't know their names, but that seemed a rather foolish thing to remember with another dragon less than ten meters away. Even trained as Gemma had been, by both family and Ling-Na-Paiste, ten meters was far too close in such a state, when this one seemed near six. She fancied she saw her reflection in this one's eyes. "When were the last time the wards were renewed?"
"Only Nynaeve isn't school-trained." The rest was left unsaid, that Nynaeve was the only one of her children who wasn't ill. Morgause's fists were white. "Grandfather renewed them last month, though it must have been when he was ill. . ."
"Where is she?" Did Gemma have to do everything? It felt like pulling teeth.
"The University, with Cathair." Gemma nodded, pretending she knew who Cathair was. A nephew, a great-nephew, a friend?
"Scáthach's Gambit states--"
"Shut up, Gemma." Morgause's voice was strained. "For once, shut up, and let me think."
Gemma pressed her lips together, swallowing down a cough. "Well, the wards must have been put up when he was feeling better." The dragon was finished circling, and was turning around. "But your Nynell ought to renew what's protecting us."
It was worse now, more than ever. Needles were digging a thousandfold into her head, and she was bloody weak. She was older, she was strong, and still it wasn't good enough. Like hundreds before her, she was prey to the illness that swept across the country, and like them all she wasn't much spared the impacts. There were a thousand places she'd rather be than here, a million. And yet. . .here she was, on the stupid cold island she'd grown up on.
The Matron had said sick folk couldn't be in the castle, and she hadn't wanted to go to Pyxis, and it was the perfect time to be renovating their home. So An Caillteanach had been the only place she could go. She'd be joined by bloody Morgause and her brood, because of bloody course they still lived there. Gemma had never thought she'd been one to wish Morgause was well, but there it was. It worked out, maybe. With Morgause sick, at least she didn't try to talk to Gemma much. Supposedly. Morgause's brood (she had never been able to tell them apart, nor had particularly cared to do so) were mostly sick as well, but they'd gotten the bright idea that it would be a good idea to put the sisters together. In the old cell that had once served as their bedroom, too. If Greg hadn't been so concerned with the rest of their family, it wouldn't have happened. As it was, Greg was preoccupied, worried about their niece and Odelia. She couldn't blame him for such, but she was his wife, and where was he when she was so inconvenienced? Winning the Uncle of the year award, hopefully.
She gave a huff, pulling her robe tighter around her as she crossed to the narrow opening that passed as a window. It was sweltering hot, fires roaring high and only amplifying the old charms on the broch. She needed air, she needed--
"Tell me," her voice was hoarse from coughing and vomiting, from lack of use. "'Gawse--" the rarely-used childhood name leapt from her throat, and Gemma didn't catch it in time to correct it. "I'm making things up. I'm hallucinating. We're in no fit state--"
Her sister leveled a glare at her back, one that prickled the hairs on Gemma's back. "Don't call me unless it's important."
If she'd had her magic, if she wasn't sick, Gemma would have forced the torchlight to flare in the room. better yet, she wouldn't be here during the worst parts. "Morgause Anna MacFusty, I swear by all that is magical, if you don't pick up your bloody arse off the bed and tell me if I'm wrong there might not be a bloody An Caillteanach for you to lounge around in."
"What's so important that you. . ." Morgause's voice trailed off. "Oh. How did we not hear that?"
"It was storming." Gemma's palms were sweating. The dragon-- no, she didn't know it by name, it had been too many years and she had rather less magic than she would have wanted. The quickest way to subdue it, to drive it away required such, and her own was far too shaky. "How many of your children are here, how many can. . ." she didn't know their names, but that seemed a rather foolish thing to remember with another dragon less than ten meters away. Even trained as Gemma had been, by both family and Ling-Na-Paiste, ten meters was far too close in such a state, when this one seemed near six. She fancied she saw her reflection in this one's eyes. "When were the last time the wards were renewed?"
"Only Nynaeve isn't school-trained." The rest was left unsaid, that Nynaeve was the only one of her children who wasn't ill. Morgause's fists were white. "Grandfather renewed them last month, though it must have been when he was ill. . ."
"Where is she?" Did Gemma have to do everything? It felt like pulling teeth.
"The University, with Cathair." Gemma nodded, pretending she knew who Cathair was. A nephew, a great-nephew, a friend?
"Scáthach's Gambit states--"
"Shut up, Gemma." Morgause's voice was strained. "For once, shut up, and let me think."
Gemma pressed her lips together, swallowing down a cough. "Well, the wards must have been put up when he was feeling better." The dragon was finished circling, and was turning around. "But your Nynell ought to renew what's protecting us."
