"-see how she totters, see how she tumbles.
And see how she's rolling, all upon the salt wat-ah!"
Ameren frowned as her voice cracked and then cleared her throat.
"Some bard, eh? That's what I get for not trying to carry a tune for five months though, isn't it?" mumbled Ameren, smiling as the mare snorted in response, and continued the song by humming instead while she combed out the horse's long mane. She was starting to come around again, Fairy, slowly but surely now that they were finally on their way back north.
Five months... has it truly been that long? No, it must be almost six now.
The week after breaking into the estate had passed in a haze. Ameren had been asleep for most of it, too weak to do anything but lie in bed and wait for her broken body to begin mending. During that week they'd been kept under guard while the Marshal and Lord Idhren tracked down Seldorien's accomplices and brought the whole lot of them to justice. For a moment it had looked like she and Connwear might join them on the gallows, their hands were hardly clean after all, but Lord Idhren wouldn't allow it, insisting that they too be rewarded and sent home safely.
And he didn't spare any expense on making sure we got there in one piece.
The ship they were on was a two masted frigate with a full crew and a small company of soldiers, escorting a pair of trading vessels set to continue further north once she and the others had been dropped off at the mouth of the Brandywine. There another, smaller ship would take them up the river to Sarn Ford.
Then it's just a few days' walk and we're home.
Ameren put away the comb, searched her pockets for the apple she'd saved from earlier and took a bite out of it before offering the rest to the horse. Fairy gave it a suspicious sniff before munching it down, remaining a bit on edge in Ameren's presence, though thankfully she'd stopped biting and kicking.
"We both have some ways left to go, darling."
Remembering the person she'd been after spending so long as someone else had become a challenge. The cold, disinterested attitude of the mercenary was gone, yet Ameren often found herself thinking too much on what the right response would be to the things people said or did. Was that something she'd once thought funny? Should she laugh and smile? Be intrigued? Repulsed? Surprised? Indifferent? It usually ended with frustration and her wondering whether she'd ever get it right again.
Or if I was ever truly the bard, or simply the infiltrator wearing another mask.
She gave the horse a light pat on the neck and walked out of the hold, up the narrow stair toward the cabins, pulled open a door and stepped inside. Connwear was already fast asleep and she stood there looking over at him for a moment while her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Perhaps it is just a matter of choice. That, in the end, the only thing that's important is who and what one tries to be. Which life I choose to lead. Professional criminal in a large, rich country full of opportunities, or entertainer in a little backwater where it rains ten months of the year and hails the other two?
Ameren stepped out of her boots and pulled off the armour, then crept in under the covers. She smiled, giving a faint, contented sigh as Connwear put an arm around her and pulled her close, murmuring something inaudible in his sleep as he nuzzled his nose into her hair.
The answer to that is obvious.
