Somewhere I belong...

The dream which held Rickstan for some hours woke him up with such alacrity and fear that he woke up with a start, his hand instinctively reaching under his pillow for the dagger which found a home there, to then be held up in a defensive manner into the silence of the room. Looking around the dark room, sweat making a shine to his neck, Rickstan looked confused, it took him some moments to realize it was his mind playing a story, a terrible story, yet again, like so many times before.
He glanced down to his right and noticed the lumps and mass under the bedding sheets, recalling the person who laid peacefully unaware, her hand resting ever so softly on his perspirating chest, perhaps having far more pleasant dreams than his own. Oh how he envied her, to have unaffected sleep, blissfully and undisturbed. 
Laying back upon the pillow of feather and cotton, he let his eyes scan the roof and then the basic furniture of the Inn accommodation, which for the forseeable time would be his home. This was to be his home now, he gave up all pursuit of his mothers murderer, his possible Father.  Was he right in doing so? Part of him ached to chase him, to end his pitiful existence like he trained so hard for, yet another part of him, a much more stronger hunger, ached to remain with this woman at his side. She knew his troubles, his story and background. 
Turning to look at her, so peaceful and content, beautiful even, he wondered why she chose him, why she did not look at him and think, "You bare-faced thief and coward", yet she does not, she shows such affection and love, showing him things, making him feel emotions he never knew existed, he didn't deserve her. Maybe in the end, this is where he belonged.
Still looking at her, he wondered how he still had not told her about the letter he received some days previous. A letter he burnt almost immediately, but the words were stuck, line by line in his head. His possible "Father", requested his audience again, accompanied by several threats and cursing words, but also the promise of more of his questions answered. It tug at his heart strings. For years, when he was young, he asked his "believed" Father about his mother, her death, the man who killed her, yet he never answered, it's possibly one of the catalysts which led to his endeavor to begin with. 
Now he has to choose, and inside its pulling him apart. He knows that if he goes to see him again, he would kill him, he would become a murderer, a coward. He felt he would never know himself unless he did this one, desired, hungered act. He had bled, bruised and punished himself all his young years for the moment. Like a man mad, the memories consumed him, reopening the wounds, picking him apart. 
He had to choose, or find a way to manage both. He knows he can't handle it anymore, it wasn't alright, he was taking it out on his newly beloved friends, saying things he often didn't mean. He wished he could let go...Have mercy on me.
Closing his eyes, he placed himself closed to his loved Cedwyn and tried to block the thoughts out, to try and retain some sleep or silence, to block the voices out of his head.