Returning to Roots

 Corraidhin was tired when he heard the news. It was early and the sun hadn't been shining long enough to be warm. When he first heard it, it didn't make sense. What did Andreas mean when he said Braonan was dead?

Was Andreas mad at him? Then Corraidhin got a clear look at Andreas' face. Suddenly, he was awake. Braonan got caught by enemy scouts. He was gone. He'd complained about something like his bràthair being there too much, and now he was just gone.

Had he angered Juno by not appreciating his family? No mortal could catch Braonan in the woods. Was he revealed by an immortal to punish Corraidhin? He'd asked for his bràthair to leave him alone, and now he got his wish.

The gods had a cruel sense of humor.

Henry must have heard the news, because he came by with Braonan's things. Outside of his gear and his plant collection, his bràthair didn't own much. Everything that was left at the camp fit in a single bag. Henry didn't say a word as he dropped off the bag. By now, they all knew better than to try and comfort each other with meaningless words.

Corraidhin looked at the bag. Somehow, the idea of opening it terrified him more than going into battle ever had. Braonan had never liked people going through his things. If he didn't come in in a rage when Corraidhin opened his bag, then he would know that he was really gone. The cul tona always seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing what Corraidhin was doing.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the bag. As he looked through the armor and the spare sharpener that he was always borrowing, he heard the crinkle of paper. Was that the 'green' journal? Knowing that Braonan wouldn't have wanted the record of his plant based knowledge to get crushed, he fished around for it. He didn't find the journal, but he did find a paper. When he pulled it up, it was just one sheet. The writing was in Gaelic.

Odd, how it looked so foreign to him now. It took him a full minute to transfer his mind back to the language of his birth so that he could read easily. As he read, his eyes widened and he felt like he was going to explode. He felt like he was being pulled in too many directions at once. He wondered if this was how it felt to be drawn and quartered.

Was his bràthair alive or dead? Last night he was alive. This morning he was dead. Now he was alive again? Was this a cruel joke? If so, which was the joke? Him being dead, or him being alive?

"We're leaving tonight. If we move quickly we can easily outpace the legion and warn the rest of the Macphersons. I have pro-"

His bràthair had wanted to leave. And no mortal could find him in the woods. Did he think that he could run away to the woods and fake his death and he'd be safe? Was this an act of cowardice, and running away from his duty? Or was this an act of bravery and defiance? Knowing his bràthair, it was probably misguided bravery.

He had to find him. Under peaceful circumstances, he was pretty sure his bràthair could not only survive in the wild, but thrive. But they were at war and chances were that Braonan was going to get caught in the middle of it. Romans would kill him for deserting and Galli would kill him because he was a soldier.

He started into the woods. He knew his bràthair, and he knew this area. He could find him.

When he found the oak grove, he could see a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye. Braonan's knife? He turned toward it and.. That is not Braonan's! It was a blade all right, and it was flying straight at him. He barely managed to move his head out of the way and was still nicked in the ear.

Yanking the knife from the tree, he flung it back at his attacker before drawing his sword. His opponent was a girl his age with red hair and aristocratic features. She dodged the knife a little more gracefully than he had and drew her own sword.

He slashed, but she pushed his arm with one hand and sliced it with the other. He saw her hilt speeding toward his head. He tried to raise his sword arm, but the injury had slowed his reaction time.

He felt himself falling through the twigs to the ground. He could feel every little pebble in the dirt. Then a weight landed on top of him, forcing the air out of his lungs. He could hear the girl muttering in what sounded like Greek. He tried to shove her off until he felt something cold and smooth against his throat.

That must have been her sword. He forced his eyes open, the rest of him was stock still. It was only now that he realised that despite her red hair, she didn't look like a Galli. That could also explain the foreign sounding language.

Then he saw the apple blossom pinned at her collar. Galli or not, she was an ally of Clan Jardine. His eyes widened in realization. If Braonan had come here, he may have run into her.

"What do you want?", she asked, voice full of loathing. Obviously not fond of soldiers. He really hoped that she hadn't met Braonan.

"Am I the first soldier you've seen here today?" He couldn't think of a better way to phrase it.

The pressure at his throat lessened, and then increased. She seemed caught off guard. Did she think he meant reinforcements? He could feel the skin right on the border of breaking.

"You're looking for your bràthair,"

"How did you-"

"So now you care? How about when he was the one who couldn't breath, huh? How about when Braonan came to you and received death threats? Where was the brotherly concern then, huh?"

He felt like he'd been slapped in the face, and it gave him the courage to do something stupid. He grabbed her sword by the blade, ignoring the deep slicing in his palms, and shoved it and her off of him. He then rolled so that he was the one on top now.

She continued to buck, even after he got her sword pressing into her. She received several small cuts for her trouble, but he kept her pinned down.

"What do you know about my bràthair?"

"I know that he's better off away from you."

"And where is that?"

"My lips are sealed."

"Who are you? And how do you know my bràthair?"

"Selene, hunter of Artemis, and he's one of my best friends."

"How do I find him?"

"Over my dead body."

"Sounds good to me."

He raised the sword over her head but, she just smirked. She was playing him. She wasn't scared to die, but she was afraid of spilling her secrets.

"But you're of more use to me alive." He glared down, letting her know that he wasn't fooled.

"Sounds good to me." she echoed. She had him disarmed and pinned again in seconds.

This girl was really annoying. But he realised that the only way he would get to his bràthair was by working with her. He couldn't force her without help, and if he involved anyone else it would result in his bràthair's execution.

"I see you're not going to take me to him. Will you talk to him for me then?"

She froze. "What is it with you Macphersons and asking me to carry messages? Let me guess, do you want to say something along the lines of 'Hi, I love you. I'm sorry'?"

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Braonan looked at the door apprehensively. Everything looked the same, but different. And smaller. There was still a trinity knot carved into the door. Everything still smelled like pine and herbs. He knew he couldn't really turn back the clock and unlive the last four winters. But it almost felt like he could now that he was home.

Gathering his courage, he knocked. The door swung inward, and there she was. Blue eyes that looked like a mirror. Golden hair glinting in the sun just like Corraidhin's. His màthair was here. He could hug her and read her Corraidhin's letters. He was home.