@PigeonOfAstora
Fortunately, none of their fellows had been badly wounded or worse in the fighting down in the mausoleum once Fionn, Renar, and Nicomede had made it to the scene; unfortunately—at least in the first's mind—they arrived too late to join in on anything more than clean-up and helping get the others back to Candaeln, such as were willing to immediately make their way back to the keep. His night's rest was well-earned after that, other than joining in on escorting the princesses back to their proper residence. His finery was set to wash away the grime accumulated after putting armour overtop, his blades polished back to their proper state, and for much of the week, life went on as normal.
Wake before the sun, eat an early breakfast. Out into the yard to exercise and train. Much of it now on Fionn's end was building a cider mill and press, after locating both the materials needed and getting good information about the upcoming apple harvest. Manual labour of this sort had proven very important in his own early development, understanding his body, developing a good sense of physical fitness—and it would do the same for some of his less physically-inclined fellows, he'd decided. Not everybody needed to swing a sword or an axe, but maintaining a healthy body was important for sorcerers and warriors alike. Making the mill man-powered rather than animal-powered would only aid with that!
When he wasn't doing that or joining in on the usual sparring matches with his various partners, he was spending more and more time in the library, seeking out what books he could to try and make use of his
newly discovered talent, though with no idea where to start or what tomes to look for, he had little tangible success. It was not long into the week, however, that he noticed one of their number to be absent for longer than was ever the norm. He thought he'd seen the Hundi lad's reddish main bobbing through the halls at one point, but as soon as he rounded the corner to get a closer look, there was no sign.
As the days neared a week past, his curiosity—and general concern for one of his fellow knights—started to get the better of him.
"Tomorrow," he muttered to himself one day, making up his mind at last to go and hunt down the wayward knight. For all that some of the habits he'd begun to notice in Lein were keen to rub him the wrong way, after the casualties the Iron Roses had suffered in recent memory any disappearance of one of their number would be a grievous loss to bear. Beyond that, if it
weren't for some of those habits he had little to dislike from the lad, and his conscience couldn't let him just sit and wait in the hope that Lein might return for both reasons.
As was his way, he arose the next morning before the sun—a bit earlier than usual, even, with a strangled curse that quickly turned to laughter as he started bolt upright in his bed. His arms relaxed, finding no spray of blood or entrails, no gaping open wound where the tip of a giant claw had torn open the skin across his navel like it was wet paper. Not like that was one he could even be annoyed with, anyways—one of him, alone, facing up against a dragon that large?
That knight of the Wild Hunt who'd managed to plant a dagger in his throat, though,
that one rankled a bit. Shaking his head—and rubbing at the side of his neck despite the knowledge that there wouldn't even be a mark there—he turned over, standing out of bed and pulling on his clothes. The rest of Candaeln was fairly quiet and empty at this time of day, save for a few knights who seemed worse for wear as they stumbled blearily about towards the dining hall for whatever breakfast might be found.
Such an epidemic of poor sleep was a rare occurrence, though Fionn didn't think much about it. It happened from time to time, after all, especially for men and women in their profession. A few minutes later, with a tankard of ale and some bread and cheese down in his system, Fionn set out from the keep just as the sun was beginnging to peek over the horizon. Ostensibly, out for a morning jog—not entirely uncommon for him, though the perceptive might note that today was not the day he'd usually do so—though once he reached the city proper, he veered off from his typical course, heading back to the cemetery he'd been in a week before.
Without any better options, he may as well trace the Hundi knight's steps backwards, rather than asking after him in every tavern in Aimlenn. The cemetery's groundskeeper proved less than helpful when questioned, unfortunately, though his attempts to outright turn Fionn away planted some seeds of suspicion in his mind; the protests were a little
too vehement to appear as though he was just trying to avoid another mess in his workplace.
Some coins later and Fionn earned himself free access, looking through the gravestones and mausoleum entrances for some sign of his quarry.
Or, better yet, the quarry himself, ragged, dirty, sleeping with head nestled between some tree roots and feet lying over the grave of some dwarf woman. For a moment, Fionn considered not even trying to wake him, but one glance at Lein's face showed that he wasn't even experiencing any peace in his sleep. So he sat down, pulling out a small pie he'd bought once he'd reached the city, and with the other hand, he shook the sleeping knight fairly vigorously to stir him to wakefulness.
"Hey, you know we've got beds at Candaeln, right?" Rather than let go after shaking Lein, though, he held on to the man's tunic with a firm grip. Whatever was going on, he figured it might be best not to give the lad an easy escape opportunity if, for some inexplicable reason, he decided to try and run off.
"Got some breakfast for you."
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