He snored suddenly and placed the pillow further over his head. The sun had only just begun to creep over the horizon, though they would not know it, for the curtains were tightly drawn, the fires dead save a few smouldering pieces of ashy coal, the candles and oil lamps extinguished. All was darkness. The chill air outside of the blanket did not bother her, she had him, his warmth, their bodies nestled as one, limbs draped over one another. A rare moment of tranquility. He snored again.
She was unused to this house. The previous occupant was a widower, an elderly man whom she had cared for concerning his gout and rickets. A good man, and a shrewd one who invested his money wisely. His passing caused her great sadness, for although she tried to detach herself from those who sought her care, it was inevitable that friendships would be made with those she tended to often. He had given her his home for he had no offspring, no family remaining, she was as close to family as he had known since his wifes passing. Her home, her actual home, one she had spent many long days in, where she honed her trade, its garden rich with a wealth of plants, all serving a purpose, was now cinders. A shell sat upon stone foundations, the garden burnt, trampled, destroyed.
Her friends, her dear, sweet friends, frustrated her. They supported her, yes, though were like night and day, opposites of one another that would give conflicting advice. Though truly, how could anyone advise upon such a unique situation? Necromancy. One friend, Ashbark, dour, quiet, offered her a closed room, wine, and an opportunity to talk. Over the days, many opportunities such as this, and although they were at odds on some matters, the conversations helped bring clarity. Her other friend, Silver, brash, flirtatious, offered something more practical, a return to her home to dispose of the corpses that had littered her garden and home, an unenviable task. A third friend, Peregrine, reckless, free spirited, gave her a chance, a chance to flee the home that her and her former lover were held hostage in, even if it meant fanning the flames of the Madmans wrath. Then, there were the men.
The man who laid in the bed beside her, used to find the men amusing. His cocky attitude, his silver tongue, the would be suitors would pale in comparison, their efforts to woo her were naught but entertainment to him. Yet now, now it seemed different. One man, the –trader-, offering the use of his home to her, another man, Gregwald, wishing to help her in anyway he could. To try and dissuade them did little good, and her concern for their wellbeing grew. She knew the reach of the madman, though of the witch? It would know no bounds. Yet at the warning of herself, and her friends, they persisted in keeping company with her. It was clear that the Bard was uncomfortable with this.
A bond, some unknown thing in her blood, her lineage, something, drew the witch to her. Her friends thought the creature to be a charlatan, a conjurer, nothing more, at one point a figment of the young womans mind. Yet four knew differently. The Bard, the Madman, his –blood- sister, and Dernwynn, had all witnessed her deeds, her inexplicable power, something so dark that it was only recalled by the scholars in hushed tones and mentions of Melkor and Black Numenoreans. A heavy tome lay on the floor by the bed, its pages aged with time, its words recounting the known history of her own people. Tucked within its mouldy leather cover, a letter from her mother, words heavy with concern and curiosity, touching upon her life and that of Dernwynns father. She had yet to make recent events known to her brother. Arithem would likely have jested, thought her mad and seeing such outlandish words as a way to postpone the bonds of matrimony to one of his men, or worse yet he would foolhardily attempt to cut the heads from the Witch and the Madman himself.
The Bard snored once more, this time waking himself just enough to pull her bare body tight against his, before falling back into blissful slumber. She relished in the moment, the calm, the peace, for she knew all too well how soon it could change.
