1 Year, 3 months earlier -
Immalaine woke in her bed, her neck sore and her throat raw. She looked around the room, not knowing how she had gotten there, momentarily blank as to why she was there to begin with. Then it all came flooding back to her - the man in the tavern, her guardian's demanding that he be paid. She felt a shaft of anger and pain, knowing that she was no longer anything to him but an object which he used to make coin and not a person. Though, she thought sadly, she had been so for some time now. She shook her head, as she got out of bed, and tried to stand only to find the room spinning slightly. She fell back again and paused, waiting for everything to stop moving before she once again attempted her feet.
Slowly making her way across the room, she opened the door and stepped into the hall. To her surprise a man was standing there, apparently guarding the entrance, and he nodded to her as she left the room. "Yer awake, I see. Good." he said to her, with a nod. "For a while, no one were sure that ye were goin' to make it."
"What happened? she asked, not remembering much from after she'd been knocked to the ground. "That man ... who ... how did I get here?"
The man, one of the quieter regulars from the tavern, took her arm and gently steered her to the main room. "First ye need to get some food in ye. Ye sleep near 2 days now. Then we'll talk 'bout what happened." He spoke calmly, but there was a thread of unease in his voice, and Immalaine struggled to figure out the why of it.
As they entered the tavern, several sets of eyes turned to watch them. Some seemed shamed, and turned their heads away from her. Some, she was amazed to see, appeared relieved. At least one seemed surly, and muttered something unkind that Immalaine couldn't quite catch, but he was quickly elbowed by the man next to him and he fell silent, a sullen look on his ragged face.
The man escorting her turned, barking for some food to be brought out, even as he led her to a table and gently sat her down. "Wait 'ere," he said to her, and strode off to the counter to grab her food and an ale, before returning with both. "Now, eat, afore we discuss anything else."
She looked at the man, wanting to ask about what, but the smell of the stew and fresh bread caught her attention. Realizing she was feeling ravenous, she took up a spoon and began eating as politely as her hunger would allow. Several patrons turned to look her way, watching her as she fell on her food. If she had looked up, she would have seen the looks of pity, but she was too busy to notice them. After a time, her bowl was empty, and the bread all gone except for some crumbs. She lifted her mug of ale, taking a deep swallow as she looked around the room. Finally it dawned on her that something was missing - or rather someone.
"Where is he?" she asked, looking to the man who had sat to watch her as she ate.
He followed her gaze to the empty table, not asking who she meant, for he knew already the question would come. He'd been bracing himself for it, and sighed heavily as he turned back to face Immalaine. "T'is one of the things I need t'speak to ye 'bout," he replied to her, the look on his face suggesting he'd rather eat a pile of rocks.
Studying his face, Immalaine set the mug down on the table and nodded at him, as she waited for him to continue. For almost an hour she would listen, as he told her of what had transpired in the two days she had been unconscious. How her guardian had pulled the man off of her, screaming obscenities; how the two had brawled, as the man proceeded to beat the hell out of the older, slower drunk until they were finally dragged apart by several watchmen who'd been alerted to the trouble. He told her how she'd been carried, barely breathing, to her bed; and how one of the bar wenches had cared for her, listening as Immalaine had cried out over an over as she pleaded, begged for her pa to make it all stop.
"Ye know," he started, looking down at his hands in shame, "Some of us folk 'ere, well we reckon we had th' wrong thinkin' 'bout ye. We just thought ... well no matter what we thought, wasn't right of us is all." He sighed, his face ruddy from blushing. "Reckon it don't mean much t'say sorry now, after ...." he waved his hand idly in the air, "But I'll say it anyways, as I think ye deserve that much."
Immalaine nodded absently, her mind still taking in everything she had heard him tell her. "I need t'know, where is he?" she said finally, clinging to the one thing she could make sense of at the moment.
"He's at the jail," the man said finally, shaking his head. "The watchmen took him there, both fer his protection and cause of th' brawl."
"I want t'see him," she said, her hands gripped against her dress, as she spoke.
"Ye can, I can take ye there, though I'd rather ye wait til yer stronger. But child, I'll warn ye, he ain't lookin' so good. The healers, they done what they could fer him, but," he shrugged, "Jus' brace yerself, fer ain't pretty what yer gonna see."
Immalaine stood up, nodding. "If ye dun mind, I'd just as soon not wait. Mebbe ... well, I got to see him fer meself."
He got up, a looked of begrudging acceptance in his eyes. "Then come on, I'll take ye to him." he said, motioning to the door.
Silently, she followed him out of the tavern ...
