Set five years in the past.

How Philomel came to have her daughter, Celandine - come inception, to conception and birth.
It began with a lone ewer of wine.

Exactly why it was alone was unclear. Within the cellar, where it had been found, where rows of empty shelves where other bottles, caraphs and decanters had sat. For some of them, for months. Caught under the dim light of a high angled arrow-slit fortress window, the sorrow of the lack of alcohol was made more effective. Dust and silence where the last torquay's companions, thus it was with regret that the faun added in a sigh, and took the bottle from the shelf.

Clomp, clop, clop went her hooves up the wooden stairs, back to the great hall they had converted into a Mess. "It's the last one," she announced ahead of her.

From the top of the stairs came a small scuffle of a noise and then a grunt. "Well," said the unsmiling man, "I suppose we will have to make it last."

Philomel appeared at the narrow entrance, pushing the partially ajar door fully wide. Her eyes focused straight past the long hall, filled with rows of benches and trestle tables over to the low row of seats collected around the fireplace. These wooden thrones, with their low backs and wide arms made up the seats for the officers, when they ate with the rest of the warriors. Without tables they acted more like lounging chairs, comfortably decked out with cushions aplenty. Philomel had her favourite, as did her handsome, strong friend Vaeron and one of a few second in commands. Currently he sat in his, facing the fire that lit the room in a hazy glory, with his face upturned to greet her.

Gently she smiled, feeling at ease. It was not often the faun who had been through so many trials and tribulations felt this comfortable. But she was in her hidden fortress, surrounded by women warriors fiercely loyal to her. And here was her dear close friend. Barely had a month passed of them being in this place, and she already felt like it was home.

Rameses Oasis Vaeron, the mage who had partially helped to create what she was now, nodded at her. He would have grinned back to her were it not for the two long scars either side of his face, those which he had gained as a priest in service to his Elven star god - those that cut right through the zygomaticus major muscle and disabled him to smile forevermore.

But she could see the sparkle in his eye. The joy of a good night. Already they had consumed what they had found in Philomel's room and ... Well. That had run out. Therefore a fresh rosy joy was in them, and this wine was supposed to last them the rest of the still early night.

"It has been a long week," Vaeron grunted, leaning forwards to grab the empty goblets off the floor. The goblets that were heavily stained already from being fresh that evening.

With a warm, agreeable, "Mmm," and a nod, Philomel sat down beside him, holding out the ewer.

Vaeron set the goblets on the arm of his chair, and took the wine from her hand. Peering at it for a while he nodded, running a finger over the roughly written label.

"Strong at least," he grunted, uncorking it with a single movement. It roughly popped and he began to pour. "It will do."