Chapter Text
John wasn’t awoken by his aunt, Lady Mary or Mimi as he called her nor by his half-sisters or a rooster outside. No the heir of Lancashire was woken by a ground-shaking thud. John was disorientated quite literally falling out of bed, grabbing the dagger from his bedside and waving it around him trying to find what woke him.
His breathing was ragged and heart raced, but the room was just as he left it when he slept. His books were on the comfortable chair, clothes from the day previous laying on the floor, and his sword leaning against his wardrobe. John calmed himself when a purple flash of light came out his window.
He hurried to look out the window. Fumbling about looking for his spyglass, there was a building that looked to be made of turf and bark 6 meters high in a sort of steep triangular prism, with a large personal gem on top. The druids garrison. They don’t come to town often much less set up garrisons. The Rot war in the forest must be getting more dire.
They had requested aid from His aunt about a week ago but Lancashire’s guard wasn’t used to combat beyond drunken brawls and straw dummies and had to stay in town to defend the city. If they were sent out, Liverpool wouldn’t stand a chance against the half dead armies of the Rot.
It was clear there was coming a time of action, and all that could be done is prep and wait. John got regular clothes on nabbed an apple from the kitchen and headed down to the blacksmithy. She sound of hammering and the smell of coal and metal filled the air around the small shack. John entered without knocking and found James and Mike McCartney working on a sword while Paul organized the materials and set aside what would be needed. Good swords were needed if worse came to worse and while the situation didn’t spark confidence, work was there to be done.
Jim looked up and instead of the usual grumble about lost labor he only said “John’s ‘ere.”
Paul turned around from the stock book and smiled. “Sleep well, *your grace?*” he said with an overly formal bow. “Shut up, you woke up to it too. And quit calling me that, Macca!” Paul looked pleased with himself,” I will have you know, sleeping beauty, that I had been up for two hours. And I can’t go today we’ll be too bus-“
“No, Go”
The boys turned to look at the widowed blacksmith.
“But the orders-“
“The orders mean will mean nothin if you can’t live to spend em. Go.”
They were silent save Mike trying to fix the bend before the blade cooled. Paul gave a nod, “Right, then” He grabbed his scabbard and left with John. They walked in silence to their clearing where they’d typically spar when Paul broke the dour silence, “Mimi say anything about what we’re expecting?” John shook his head, “Dead quiet. I think she hates in more than the stream of reports from Blackpool. Can’t do nothin’” They reach the clearing with wild strawberries around the edge of the field, he had come to play as a child. George sitting in the middle of it, staring at a violet.”
“Has it talked back yet hazza?” John mocked the younger lad. George scowled, “It can’t just say things, you’re supposed to *feel* it. It about understanding na-“ “Nature and your place in it, we know,” the boys replied. George was training to be a druid.
He had a knack natural for magic but because he could do it so well, he pursued more challenging and obscure disciplines. So instead of enchantments and potions he was attempting to commune with nature, a skill typically reserved for the elders and supposed to be infrequent. It was an unfortunately valuable skill as of late.
“We just don’t want you to be wrong about what you’re feeling from them, Georgie,” Paul offered. George looked up with is intense deep brown eyes. “I’m practicing so I know. Can’t know if I don’t try. And I’m *not* half asking this, Macca!” Paul just nodded. “’s all good, best of luck.” George had tried to join the druids in town but they weren’t sure of him because he was so young and hadn’t the time to fuss over him.
They walked a few paces away and begin sparring. “So how’s that damsel from Blackpool?” John scoffed,” Why do you care?” Paul parried a strike,”Cynthia’s sweet on you, y’know” John sidestepped an attack,”She’s engaged, some general on the front lines.” “Well I’m only looking out for you, after Astrid.”
Astrid was a nobleman daughter staying abroad for safety. John had been flirting her up when the minstrel, Stuart, his mate, won out. In the end he couldn’t be mad, Astrid was smart and quick as a whip, Stu was sensitive and caring. They were good to each other and they went back to her homeland just before the Rot business got bad. “I can find women on my own, Macca” John attempts a series of quick attacks. Paul hardly breaks a sweat, “Okay… But what do you think of her?” John nearly misses his footing as Paul goes on the offensive. “She’s sweet, fair enough and spends all her time in the castle library. That good enough for you?”
Paul scoffs, “Don’t act like you spend the whole winter with your nose in a book.” John attempts to maneuver around Paul, “It’s the winter, what else can I do, freeze my arse off?” Paul isn’t getting John get by “How many times have you you *coincidentally* run into her at the library? Snuck peek at what she was reading? Perhaps you were *so bold* as to make a recommendation?” Paul forced John back and he fell over. “Maybe…. once or twice…”
Paul looked pleased with himself, “Well now I have to meet her! She that she’s the right for such an Honor. Not haughty is she?” John sighed. ‘If the Rot could claim him now before Paul could cross examine that poor girl, that’d be fantastic,’ he thought to himself.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Town’ll be Rot ridden by the time a proposal could be made” Paul sticks out a hand to the downed heir, “Ey chin up, they’ll turn heel before you know it. Cowering at the mention of John from the house of Lennon.” John squinted at the remark, “Few acres was all my father was worth, I serve me uncles house, anyroad.” Paul helps him up, “You’ll be great anyhow. Name’s your own. C’mon better get Hazza some food before he forgets what it is.”
“NOT A CHANCE!” George yells.
“All I’m saying is that the Rapier is lighter! Better maneuverability!” “Yes but in a war zone you’re just trying to cut through the army. Longsword is the way. “It’s less technical,” Paul argued, “It’s brute force, not to mention awkward. Has to be across your back instead of a belt scabbard!” They bickered as they entered Mendips Manor where the entire courtroom was silent. Mimi sat, hand covering her mouth reading a piece of paper, looking horrified.
“Mimi… Is everything…”
“Two weeks.” Her voice was colder than the Meresy in winter.
“What are you-“
“The Rot sieges in two weeks”