It was early Spring, and that meant not only was it both Eallair and Lochan’s birthdays, but also nearly a year since they had left their home for this godforsaken island. Despite the hardships faced by the people, Eallair had declared that this be a day of celebration. He had also insisted that everybody present wear red and gold, the royal colours of Branwhuld that had been so often a fixture of court celebrations in the past.

So they had solemnly unpacked their fine dresses and tunics from the musty chests that had hidden them from sight and remembrance. Each of them had carefully shaken off the dust, hanging the cloths to air away the musty smell of a year, empty sleeves hanging limply, kinsmen of Branwhuld dangling from the gallows. But tonight was a night to remember the good things, to be happy despite their exile.

Looking up at Lochan as he danced with Cindra, Isaura thought he looked happy. She was glad, he had not been so for as long as she could remember, the strain of her illness weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was a strong, willful man but she did not know how much longer he could carry this burden, and she thought it might almost be a relief to slide from his desperately grasping hands and let him finally be free.

But then, there was so much to live for, and she was not ready to let go yet as the moving form inside her reminded with a gentle kick. No, all she could do was hang on, despite the pain, despite the diseased, winding fingers that tried to drag her down and hope that she had enough strength left to hold on to him and that he was strong to carry the weight of them both.

She sat next to Morven, both too exhausted to partake in the energetic dancing before them. Morven had not recovered well from her illness, frequently out of breath, clutching at the pain in her chest. And so they sat together watching their husbands dance with other women.

Next to them, Garrick was lounging, his head heavily propped up on one elbow, his eyes bleary. He was obviously drunk, and Isaura thought it a pity to see him that way. The whole night, he and Cindra had barely said two words to one another. Garrick had poured back ale after ale as Cindra chatted animatedly with everyone but him.

Eallair seemed to be having a good time, slightly bleary-eyed himself, but with a good-natured smile plastered on his face, oblivious to any tensions in the room. He was dancing with Varda, whose graceful steps served to conceal his every clumsy movement.

Isaura’s eyes wandered down to her boyish hips which were swaying rhythmically in contrast with the King’s flailing motions. She could not help but notice the flatness of her stomach and she felt a pang for the woman. She herself understood well the suffering that came with an inability to bear children. She rubbed her belly gently, softly murmuring a small prayer of gratitude.

But tonight Varda looked happy, Isaura was surprised to see she was actually smiling, a genuine proud smile directed at the King. Of all of them, Varda had been the only one who hadn’t carefully folded away the robes of Branwhuld, wearing them defiantly every day, to remind them of what they had left behind.

Her gaze fell on Sigurd who was perched awkwardly on the edge of his seat, watching as his wife danced with the King. Every now and then he smiled shyly towards Varda but she never looked his way.

Her eyes came to rest on the large tapestry which was now hanging on the wall. The women had worked hard to make this gift for the King, spending many hours during the winter, their needles flicking through the fabric. Out of the threads had appeared the soaring heights of Branwhuld, emerging from embroidered forests around. A small company on horseback were turning for one last look at the fallen city before they embarked on their journey to a new land. The scene was woven with threads of sadness stained with their tears, stitches of defiance hotly pulled through the heavy material with angry hands and here and there, small knots of hope.

Below the tapestry Lisbet and Cordell had forsaken the dancing for now and were laughing, sharing some private joke. His arm was gently resting around her shoulders as she giggled at whatever he had said.

Lisbet had worn her hair down for a change. Isaura couldn’t remember if she had ever seen it that way, the wild curls cascading down her shoulders. She noticed that Cordell’s hand was almost continuously buried in her hair, caressing the thick strands between his fingers.

He pulled her in closely for a long kiss, oblivious to those around him. Isaura knew this sort of love and she was glad for them, glad that they had been given a second chance at happiness.

She wondered if she would get a second chance. But then again she had taken her first, as she sat in the gardens of the castle, Lochan’s arms wrapped around her slender waist, her face pressed against the warmth of his neck. She had the man she wanted but now her illness was slowly destroying him.

Sigurd was gazing at them longingly, his smile fading, drowning in the stagnant, green pools of his eyes. There was a man who had never even had a chance.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud grunt from beside her. Garrick’s big shaggy head had finally carried him down and he was snoring loudly, his mouth hanging open. She shivered in distaste. How could that dreadful drink change a man so much?

“No Alexis, that is not the key to a woman’s heart”, she was distracted by the Queen snapping at Sir Hwratar.

Beside her Morven was looking up in interest too. She looked over at Alexis who was dancing with the Queen. She always found him slightly ridiculous, especially today with his ruffled shirt and his tight pants. There was a man who thought much too highly of himself.

And that silly little moustache of his, curling above his smirking lips. Really she could not understand how any woman could find it attractive, but it seemed they did. She had often overheard her maids conversing about handsome Sir Hwratar.

Since Morven’s recovery he had become even more insufferable than usual. Morven usually managed to curtail his outright flirtations but since her illness she seemed to have given up, too exhausted to care.

Isaura followed his gaze down to the point on which it was focused, which happened to coincide with the Queen’s ample bosom.

“My eyes are up here Alexis”, she scolded, a brittle smile plastered across her face.

“Oh… Your Highness… you did not think… oh I never… I was just admiring your jewels… er jewel that is”, he smiled winningly.

“They’re all the same aren’t they”, Morven sighed beside her. Perhaps she did care after all.

“What do you mean dear?”, Isaura asked. Everyone knew what sort of a man Alexis was but not everyone was married to a man like that.

Morven said nothing but her gaze turned rather pointedly to where Lochan was dancing with Cindra.

Lochan did look like he was having a good time. She could tell he was happy because he was smiling with his eyes too, not just the dreadful forced contortion of his mouth he wore so often these days.

So he was happy. It was his birthday and it had been a lovely night with their friends. And he did like to dance. And was fond of his young cousin. It didn’t mean anything.

Just then Lochan’s hand swooped close to Cindra’s face as they danced, stopping midflight to cheekily pinch her chubby cheek.

“If you were referring to my husband he is not like that”, Isaura retorted haughtily a burst of anger and doubt flaring in her.

Morven looked at her sympathetically and patted her hand, “Yes dear, of course you’re right. Not all men are like my husband. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you”.

They were startled by a sudden loud snort next to them, as Garrick awoke, rising to a sitting position, blinking in confusion.

His blurry eyes fell on his wife’s form, giggling as she danced around Lochan and the dull look on his face abruptly changed to one of anger. He lurched out of his seat and stumbled towards them.

Lochan noticed first, stopping mid-movement his arms falling to his sides as saw Garrick’s reddened face. Cindra did not see for a moment more, turning towards Lochan first with an inquiring look, then noticing her husband’s bulky form standing before them she stopped.

She slowly lowered her arms, looking straight at Garrick, the radiance of her expression gone, her smile frozen on her face, her eyebrows slightly raised in defiance.

“S’my wife your dancin with Lochan”, he slurred, his fists balled at his side, his mouth curled into a sneer.

“Yes of course Garrick”, Lochan replied congenially, “I was merely minding her while you had a nap. Was it a good sleep then? The sound of our revelry wasn’t too loud for you”.

Isaura could clearly hear the sarcastic lilt in her husband’s voice but it appeared Garrick was too drunk to notice.

“Mphf… well thanks”, he replied, roughly grabbing his wife’s hand, “but I’m back now so she doesn need you anymore”.

Lochan turned away as they began to dance awkwardly, Garrick swaying drunkenly, Cindra’s entire body going stiff as she avoided his pawing hands. His smile fell on Isaura and she instantly knew she had been wrong, that smile was meant only for her.

“Well then my beautiful wallflowers”, he said with a laugh, “I was hoping for a dance but unfortunately I haven’t arms enough for two”.

“Oh that’s alright, I am too tired for dancing anyway”, Morven replied with a forced laugh.

“I think I am too dearest”, Isaura smiled weakly at her husband, wishing with all her heart that she could bend her fragile body to her will.

“How about we make our own dance then, a very slow one without all this arm-waving nonsense. A dance that only goes on as long my lady’s feet aren’t tired”.

“Alright then”, she said smiling as he gently helped her to her feet.

“Garrick, you’re going the wrong way!”, Cindra shrieked, “Ow! And stop stepping on my feet you big clumsy oaf”.

Isaura looked over at the unhappy couple, wondering what could have changed so much between them. They had always seemed so good for one another, and now they could barely stay in the same room without arguing. It was sad to see, but it made her value her marriage all the more.

Lochan carefully wrapped his arms around her swollen waist, rocking her back and forth slowly while the other whirled around them.

“There now, I think the little one in there at least wants to dance with me”, he looked into her eyes with a wistful grin, “judging by the kicking I would wager it’s actually quite enthusiastic about this dancing thing”.

It had only been recently that he had tentatively begun to speak of the child she bore within her. It was only recently that they had dared to hope that perhaps this would finally be the one. If not she knew they would never hope again.

She pressed her face against the warmth of his neck as she had done that first day in the garden.

“Happy Birthday my darling”, she whispered in his ear.

“There now y’see”, Garrick drawled at them with a goofy grin on his face, “mush better dancing with your own wife isn’it”.

“Garrick! You stepped on my toe again! Keep your stupid clumping feet away from mine! And don’t be vulgar!”.

Isaura ignored them and leant forward to gently kiss her husband’s smiling mouth.

Arwaduhn, Hwratar, Inbar, Murchadh, Tadhgar, The Royal Family