It was a small room, Siofran noted. A single bed shoved into a corner and a chair by the window. Cold seeped through a gap in the window frame and settled on the floor to crawl into her boots. She shifted uncomfortably and edged closer the hearth. A small cluster of embers glowed like an eye in the midst of cooling ashes.
“I cannot recall your name,” she said, pulling the door shut. “Gwyn- or somethin’ along those lines.”
“Gweddyn, miss,” he corrected. The name rolled of his tongue slowly, unfamiliar or something long forgotten and remembered.
Edrastel bowed slightly. “Ah, yes. Well met Gweddyn. Has your recovery been swift?”
Gweddyn slouched in the chair, looking up at the pair expectantly. “Ghosts and bandits,” he muttered sourly. “Did you catch that group that roughed me up?”
“We have not, I am afraid” Edrastel replied with a shrug. “They are quite clever. Too clever for their own good.”
Siofran nodded. “What brings you to Bree?”
The man nodded and looked at her strangely, biting his lip. “I am but a simple sellsword trying to make his way.”
“Many sellswords in Bree these days, I wonder why… Rumor has it that there’s some sort of power struggle in the North. A great leader dead or some other nonsense in that vein. I wouldn’t know the details.”
Gweddyn narrowed his eyes. “With all due respect… Siofran… and Edrastel… why are you here?”
“We came to ask you of your recovery. I for one have not seen you since that night,” said Edrastel swiftly.
Siofran nodded. The infirmary bed was empty when she returned a fortnight later from business further up the Greenway. She worried, at first. Whoever beat the man within an inch of his life and dumped him in a hedge to die might wish to finish the job or eliminate witnesses. Then, the worry faded. He was likely on his way, to whatever it was he did or planned to do.
“My recovery, has been successful, thanks to you both.” Gweddyn looked up at Siofran again, this time studying her face carefully while simultaneously avoiding her eyes. “You speak of this power as if you know it, as though you have fought it yourself.”
And won. The smell of blood and viscera seeped into her memories. Caked into her skin, under her nails. All over her hands. Smoke. Fire. Screams. Siofran took a deep breath and crossed her arms. Do not think of it. “I’ve seen some of its servants,” she drawled, leaning against the mantle. “A gaunt lord named Ivar the Bonehand.”
“Bloodhand,” Edrastel muttered under his breath before falling silent once more.
A flicker of recognition flashed in Gweddyn’s eyes.
“You had a run in with him- the gaunt lord I mean,” Siofran inquired.
“Only stories of him.” Gweddyn shrugged casually. His legs looked too long and too thin, like a skeleton himself.
“What sort of stories,” she pressed, eying the man. “They say all kinds of things about gaunt lords- and false kings. Yes, they tell all sorts of stories about the gaunt lords and Angmar from whence they came”
Gweddyn froze and slowly sat upright. “Leave us,” he snapped at Edrastel.
Edrastel glanced at Siofran and placed a hand on his knife, glancing between her and Gweddyn. Gweddyn glared at him, looking up and down between Siofran and the knife. He spat onto the floor disdainfully.
“I will be fine,” she said and placed a reassuring hand on Edrastel’s arm. “Just stand by the door and I’ll yell if I need you.”
The Gondorian nodded and shut the door behind him.
Siofran took a deep breath and turned to face “Gweddyn”. “Well, I thought I recognized you. Next time, remember that Dale men do not roll their ‘r’s.”
The false Dale man looked at her with undisguised disdain.
“You are a long ways from the halls of Carn Dum, Gweddyn.”
His lip curled upwards and he traced the scar slowly. “You gave this to me, remember?”
Siofran’s nails dug into her hands. She could see the corridor, windows on one side, black doors on the other. A think red carpet muffling her footsteps. The smell of must and rot. Red. Red. Red. It hid the blood. Smokey and distorted light cast against the walls. A candlestick in one hand and a man in the corridor blocking her way. She raised her hand in the past and struck the man across the face. He collapsed without a sound and she dragged him into a chest and locked it.
“I would have killed you,” the man said flatly. “I meant to kill you.”
“I was tired of killing,” she said and looked down at the floor. “I never wanted- then and now to kill anyone.” I wish I could have taken back all those deaths.
The man tilted his head and examined her curiously. “You could have killed me then and you could have left me there to die in that garden, but you… you showed compassion to those who would show you none if you fell into their clutches.”
“Perhaps,” Siofran replied. “That is the thing which separates our people, compassion.”
“We are both pawns on opposite sides of the chessboard,” the man shrugged.
Siofran imitated the gesture. “If you say so, but unlike pawns we make our own futures.”
The rose to his feet, laughing painfully. “The makers of our own futures? We do not create our own futures, but rather fate has already created them for us. We were meant to meet tonight, whether you believe it or not.”
“Destiny, fate. Those words mean somebody wants you to do something without any inconvenient questions. In Angmar, what did they tell you you were destined for? I’ll tell you what I was destined for, if polite society had their way- a housewife. Yet, here I stand, slayer of the False King.”
Gweddyn paused, eyes darting across the room as though searching for a word. “No. I cannot believe it… Destiny has called me me to fight for Angmar, to bring it back to its former glory!”
“It it destiny? Or was it just something they told you. Something repeated often enough believe as truth.”
“I am destined to be one of the men of Carn Dum that sees our kingdom restored!” Morgrir jabbed a finger at her. “It is not true! I cannot believe what you speak! You are but a temptress and a poor one at that!”
A bitter laugh forced its way up. “Temptress? I’ve heard worse.”
Gweddyn bit his lip and took a deep breath. “I have told you what you wished to know.”
Siofran nodded and turned to the door. “Very well then. Remember this, you have a choice and you will always have a choice. I said the same to the False King and I say the same to you now.”
A hand caught her arm. The man’s eyes darted back and forth between her and the door and the window. His face remained cold, but in it, there was a small flicker of doubt like a will-o’-the-wisp on a dark night. Siofran smiled sadly. “It hurts when everything you’ve ever known falls to pieces, I know”
The man swallowed heavily and slumped forwards, hand resting limply against her sleeve. His hair fell around his face. “Thank you… for all that you have done for me. Morgrir, that is my true name.”
Siofran swallowed and nodded slowly. “I will keep your name safe. Valar watch over you, son of Angmar.”
