[A] He Who Hesitates is Lost {Adimon} [Finished]

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[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

Summer in Telmar was miserable, that much was for certain; thankfully, it was cooling off as autumn approached, but that didn't make Sephen any less uncomfortable perched atop Thane's saddle under the hot sun, having removed his heavy tunic and cloak, and was now considering his boots as well. But, whatever deities inflicted this weather on them were a little more merciful today with the occasional breeze, though Sephen was all too aware of the fact that as they moved further inland, they were probably going to face fewer of those zephyrs. But, this trip was not one that he could avoid; having made his pass through the Narnian camp and now headed home from Miraz's camp. It pained him to have to keep making excuses as to why he was gradually returning with fewer and fewer supplies, and he knew that it would only be a matter of time before Miraz considered him useless as an asset and sent him and Killian off to the battlefield, or worse... discovered where all of those supplies were really going.

   At the thought, Sephen scowled; if worst came to worst, he would burn the entire fiefdom to the ground. It would be a cold day in hell before he allowed the land of his ancestors to fall into Miraz's greedy, blood-stained hands to use for his own gains. As much as he hated the idea of losing his family's home, even more than that did he loathe the idea of it belonging to someone else who would abuse it.

   From the back he heard one of the caravan guards blow his horn; alarmed, Sephen kicked Thane into a gallop around towards the back of the long caravan, very conscious of the quiver of arrows strapped to the saddle by his leg and the bow in its holster behind it. Beside him, the other drivers and riders of the caravan seemed just as startled, though it seemed only a few of them knew what to do, not quite sure whether they were under attack or if it was a false alarm. Sephen reached the back of the caravan, bow drawn and an arrow ready to fit to the string; he had half expected either some predatory beast or a would-be thief, but instead found himself faced with a rather ragged young man that appeared as if he was on his last legs. It was his visage, though, that made Sephen lower his bow; the Tescar facade was one he was very familiar with, and the resemblance to one Lady Natissa was too uncanny to just be coincidence. It was the name, though, that he had trouble placing.

   "Who goes there?" He inquired, letting his guard down seeing that the man in question was obviously unarmed and in no shape to be walking, let alone fighting or attacking.

   The man before them, besides being visibly worn and tired, seemed lost and confused, as if he knew he had someplace to go but didn't know where or how he was supposed to get there; waving over a couple of the accompanying serfs, he sent one off in search of water in one of the carriages, dismounting and handing the reins to the other. Beside him, the guard that had blown the horn remained wary of the stranger before them, his hand resting on his sword should he have to come to his Lord's aid. Much as Sephen appreciated his guards' loyalty, he could definitely have done without the impression that he was helpless on his own.

   Sephen turned to hear the serf he had sent off for water return, his feet making muffled thudding sounds on the hardened dirt path as he ran, trying to balance a pitcher of water and occasionally spilling some of the water onto the ground, the earth so parched and dry that it merely pooled on top of the dirt. Though it was something of an awkward process, helping the weakened man drink, Sephen remained patient, getting him to drink his fill slowly. It was obvious he had been wandering for a while, and it was a wonder that he was standing at all.

((Blah. sorry if it sucks, I lost my train of thought in the middle of the last paragraph.))

[Adimon Tescar]

Adimon had walked a long time without meeting another human being.  The journey was starting to wear on his already weakened state.  His fever had returned, and his headache was threatening to join it in attacking his body. As he still had no way of knowing where he was, or in which direction he should be heading, he decided to find a place to make camp. He needed to rest, or he would never make it to Miraz’ camp or the castle. 

He had just decided on this next course of action, when the sounds of men, horses, and wagons met his ears.  Quickly, he hid out of sight of the path, until such time as he could determine whether it was safe to approach.  He did not have to wait long. The caravan came into view, and Adimon could see that the flags displayed were not those that had been ubiquitous in the Narnian camp.  After further gleaning from a rear guard’s remarks that these men had just come from supplying Miraz’ army, Adimon decided to make his presence known. 

He had hardly stepped out from behind his tree when the guard noticed him and blew his horn.  The caravan snapped into action, though it seemed not all knew what to make of him.  He gazed in slight derision at those who seemed confused, but in approval at those who trained weapons on him. Clearly, the latter knew that a seemingly unarmed man could still bring many dangers, particularly when this man had hereto been hidden from them. He just hoped that they would not be too suspicious, and he did his part in assuaging their wariness by holding out his hands open and out to the sides as he approached slowly. 

He was still a short distance away when he halted, to let them make the next move.  He did not have to wait long for a young man to come up, arrow nocked and ready.  After only one look at the stranger, he lowered his bow and demanded an introduction.  Adimon gave half a grin in self-mockery. Apparently, he looked to be even worse off than he was. 

The leader’s seemingly simple question took Adimon a moment to answer.  After all, he knew nothing of himself first hand, and his secondhand knowledge of himself came mostly through his enemies. He cursed his lack of memory once more, and only wished it would prove at least somewhat beneficial in his current situation.  Finally, he stated, “I am Adimon Tescar." He would leave off title and position, until he better knew himself.  After a brief pause, he continued, "And if you would be so kind, I would know the way to King Miraz’ camp.”

He spoke to the approaching leader, but kept alert to the reactions of all the men around him.  As such, he did not miss the fact that the guard that had originally alerted the caravan stayed close to his leader, hand on his hilt.  Already, this caravan had gained his approval, despite his contempt for the men’s initial confusion.  There was a cohesion and discipline here that had been noticeably lacking in the Narnian camp. A man came and offered him water, then, and Adimon accepted it gratefully.  It had not been too long since he had last stopped at a stream for a drink, but the day was hot, and he had already grown thirsty.

Having drunk his fill, Adimon nodded in thanks to the man and returned to him the pitcher. He then returned his gaze to the leader. “I thank you for that…” He trailed off, in obvious invitation for the man’s name. He just hoped this interview would be short. As soon as he had stopped walking, it had become apparent how much he really did need the rest he had planned.  He was not sure how much longer he could force his body into standing.

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

Adimon Tescar. Of course; Sephen knew that name all too well, considering the number of times he had met the man's mother. He didn't doubt for a moment that Lady Natissa was probably worried sick for her son, since news of a captive in the hold of the Narnian army had reached the Telmarine citadel. But.... there remained the fact that Adimon had made his name a notorious one for being the king's right-hand man and loyal informant; if he had been with the Narnians, the possibility that he knew something vital was far from out of the question. Still, Sephen knew better than to use force to keep his own neck or the Narnians safe. He had to play this part with great finesse and believability.

   "We have just come from Miraz's camp," He replied, "And we are not equipped for a trip back, nor are you in any kind of condition to be traveling further than necessary. Come with us, we can take care of you. If you have a message to deliver, we can do so by messenger or bird; but we should make haste. It is only going to get hotter if we stand here."

   Now of all times, Sephen didn't think he could be any more grateful for his guard; they all knew that Sephen's alliance was reason enough for Miraz to declare him a traitor and have both him and Killian executed or assassinated, and would play along just as they so often rehearsed. Even the two young serfs accompanying them were informed of the delicacy of their circumstances; Sephen did not place his trust in others easily, and every member of his caravan had been hand-selected only after proving their worth to him.

   "Sephen De La Braose," He gave his name, "I know your mother, the Lady."

   Introductions were cut short (somewhat to Sephen's relief) when Adimon's knees seemed to finally give out beneath them, Sephen quickly stepping forward to pull the man's arm over his shoulders, one of his guard dismounting to assist his superior in helping the exhausted man into one of the wagons; it was hardly a substitute for a real bed and doctor, but for the time being, the best they could give the exhausted Telmarine was a cot, some shade, water, and rest. It would take the better part of a day to reach Braose, but sick though it was apparent the man was, Sephen doubted that his life was in any danger. He had seen no injury, no bleeding or clotted wounds on Adimon's tired frame, and in any case, as much as Sephen hated the idea of putting precedence over the son of a friend (well... "friend" used very loosely), if Adimon knew anything about the Narnians, he'd have to act on it.

((Blah. Sorry if it's rambly, I kind of lost my train of thought a couple times >___>;;)

[Adimon Tescar]

Adimon hesitated at Sephen’s offer.  It was true that he had already demanded more of his body than it could take in his current state.  But should he be reporting to a supervisor? He did not even know what his position entailed.  He knew that he was the king’s “Private Secretary”, whatever that meant, and that he apparently had at least some importance to the Telmarine army. But what were his responsibilities in such a situation as he currently found himself? And could he really be any help to the king or his army in his current condition?  His body was weak, and his memory even worse off.  He could remember nothing of his past prior to awakening in the Narnian camp, and even his short term memory was far from reliable at the moment.  Yes, a message might be the best route.  He would tell the king what had happened, and request further instructions.  He could even provide his observations of the Narnians and their camp, at least, as much as he could remember.

“Thank you,” he said at last, accepting the leader’s offer. “But I will need to send a message back to the king once I’ve had time to compose it.”  He could do so when they next stopped for a break, or when they arrived at their destination.

When Sephen de la Braose gave his name, Adimon nodded in acknowledgement. The leader’s next words, however, made him pause.  This man knew his mother? Adimon must press him for details once they were on their way.  If his memory were to never return, he had to at least gather what second hand knowledge of his life as he could.  In particular, he wondered at the lord’s naming of his mother as “the Lady”. Was that some sort of title?

For now, Adimon settled with an acknowledgement of his condition, for if de la Braose would ask after his mother’s welfare, he would have no answer to give. “I am afraid I have no memory of my mother, or of anything other than the past two weeks.  I was given a pretty severe blow to the head during the storm, and then was captured by the Narnians.” Back among allies, he did not bother hiding his disgust for their enemies.

Adimon cursed then, for despite his strain to control his body, his knees gave way beneath him.  He would have shown as little weakness as possible to these strangers. Adimon was caught by the lord himself before he could fall, and could only mutter his thanks as he was helped to the wagon. Much as he hated to admit it, he did need rest.