Chapter Text
“Shit. Of course.” Ross cursed as he thought about crumpling Duncan’s summons up into a tiny ball and tossing it into the troughs down in the stables. “He’s calling on a lot of us.” Caithness, closing the barn gate behind him as he came in, nodded slowly.
“If I were him, I wouldn’t have moved either of us,” he muttered. “He’s putting all his faith in the Norwegians landing in the east.”
“Wonder if he knows that we’re a package deal, so he doesn’t wanna split us up,” Menteith joked, trying to keep the mood light. She was no more eager than the others to think about impending war.
“I mean… There’s enough problems at home as it is,” Angus shrugged. “Last I talked to Bethad, he mentioned something about an animal stalking around the forests and preying on travellers.” The subject piqued Lennox’s interest, though not enough to draw their attention anywhere from their own thoughts.
“Then why’s Duncan so eager to move everyone from the northeast?” Ross asked. “There’s no guarantee the Norwegians will land at Fife. All it takes is a bit of misdirection and we’d easily get caught between forces from the north and south.” Lennox motioned for Ross to hand the notice over, and as their eyes scanned the summons (addressed only to Ross, though they’d heard that a similar letter had arrived bearing their name), they tried their best to shake the deep-seated feeling of dread in their chest.
“He could’ve seen something,” they offered, handing the paper back to Ross, who folded it with silent annoyance and tucked it into the sleeve of his linen shirt. “I hear Prince Donalbain’s clairvoyance is strong. Who’s to say his father can’t do the same?”
“Or maybe there’s an informant,” Menteith suggested, her voice tinged with mystery. “Someone who knows where the enemy will be.”
“And--” Caithness gave a melodramatic gasp. “--would you happen to be said informant, my dearest?” Menteith pretended to swoon.
“I could never,” they added. “I couldn’t handle that kind of pressure. But it’s a possibility, you know?” She giggled and kissed Caithness on the cheek. Ross nodded sagely.
“Either way, I… would like to have faith that the king knows what he’s doing,” Angus said at last, and in his words lay an unspoken question, asking if the others thought the same.
“I’d like to do the same,” Lennox said. “Though I can’t help but wonder whether he thinks the animal problem should fall under his jurisdiction or ours, since it’s in our thanedoms--er, well, Bethad’s… and Cawdor’s...” They trailed off in silent horror.
“Mine as well,” Angus added. “Everything alright?”
“I… yeah,” Lennox managed, a cold fear crawling down their spine that would have made their fur stand on end. “Don’t, uh--don’t worry about it.” Angus raised an eyebrow, but he knew better than to pry.
“Oh. Well…” It was silent for a few agonizing seconds, and Lennox felt their vision dip in and out of focus.
“I wonder how Duff and his family are holding up,” Caithness mused. “You know? I wonder if he’s having Mairead and the children leave for Inverness, or if they’re staying put in Fife…”
“My cousin’s smart,” Ross said. “I figure she’ll be fine no matter where she is.” Angus had taken to shuffling stray hay into a small pile on the floor with his boots.
“Did you feed Abhainn yet?” he asked, glancing a few stalls down at a speckled grey horse.
“Oh, shit. Not yet,” Ross said, rushing over towards one of several buckets stacked in the corner of the stable room. “I’ll be right back!” he cried as he threw on the hood of his cloak and dashed out towards the granary, sprinting as fast as he could to avoid the remaining sunlight.
“I swear, he’d forget his sword if it weren’t strapped to him,” Menteith chuckled. “Maybe I’ll sneak the horses some apples later tonight.” Angus looked up from the pile of straw between his feet.
“No apple pie?” he asked, almost distraught.
“They’re not getting all the apples,” she laughed. “Calm down.” Caithness sidled over to Lennox, who had begun shifting hay around with their feet, much like Angus, though with much less of a goal.
“You feeling alright, mo chuilean?” he murmured, leaning in. Lennox shook their head.
“I… I think I need to pay Cawdor a visit,” they admitted. “To talk about what’s been going on in… his vicinity.” Caithness nodded and pretended to fully understand, though he figured it was a case of Lennox wanting to know all the facts--they liked to do that.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No!” The reply came out much faster (and much sharper) than they had intended it, and they could see that it had caught Caithness by surprise. “No. I’ll… I’ll be fine.” They swallowed, finding their throat dry, like it always was whenever the words refused to come out right. Caithness opened his mouth, then shut it again.
“Oh,” he nodded in the absence of anything else to say. Lennox caught a few words of Angus and Menteith’s conversation: something about ice magic and food preservation.
“Sorry. Caith, I didn’t mean…” Caithness gave them a reasurring nod, though Lennox could tell by the way his brows furrowed that he was still concerned, and possibly even upset, though they knew they had a habit of assuming the worst in situations like this.
“I know,” he murmured. “I just thought--you sounded scared, and… I wanted to make sure you’d be okay.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’ll be okay.” Lennox hated the tremble in their voice, betraying the truth.
The first time they had seen what Cawdor was capable of outside of a formal meeting or military gathering, they had been roaming the forests, having split from a small hunting party that Macbeth had organized in order to chase a particularly interesting scent. Snout to the ground, they pushed through ferns and tall grass until they heard something else approaching--something bigger than them. From the darkness between the trees came a giant wolf with a pelt black as night and a limp, mangled animal clutched in its jaws. For a second, Lennox felt their entire body tense, like a spring winding up. But the other wolf never attacked.
Lennox recognised the creature caught between its teeth as one of the hunting dogs from Inverness, a brown-and-white pointer whose once-rusty fur was dark with blood, and they shrank back with a whimper. Uninterested, the other wolf turned and walked off in the direction it came from, and they let go of a breath they didn't know they'd been holding.
When the hunting group reconvened only to find one hound missing, Lennox didn't know how to bring up the fact that Cawdor and the wolf from the woods shared the same exact scent.
“Alright. I trust you,” Caithness whispered, snapping Lennox out of their thoughts. Ross stumbled back through the barn gate, hauling a bucket full of oats, and Menteith chuckled at him as she moved out of the way.
“So…” Lennox cleared their throat. “Did Angus mention apple pie?”
“Not if the horses eat all the apples before we do,” Angus joked, and Menteith lightly punched him in the shoulder.
“Well, you could always go in and wash them yourself--Angus, you scoundrel! ” They shrieked as Angus swooped them up in his arms, and Lennox couldn’t help but laugh as she giggled and kicked about.
“You’re coming in with me then!” he cried, staggering toward the barn gate as Menteith gave up and melodramatically draped herself over Angus’ shoulder. Caithness shook his head with a smile, watching Angus awkwardly manoeuvre his way out of the barn, trying not to catch Menteith’s long braid in the latch.
“Horses fed, hay swept… I think that’s everything,” Ross murmured as he dusted his hands off and came to stand beside Lennox. “God, I love them so much.” Lennox leaned their head on Ross’ shoulder, and as Ross’ fingers combed lightly through their hair, they figured that nothing could be scary enough to keep them from protecting their pack.