♦
It was some weeks since Lheuwen had seen her grandfather. He looked – if it were possible – somehow younger. His weeks in Breeland had put some colour back into his cheeks and a twinkle in his eyes after the long haggard road he must have taken to travel up from Dunland; his beard was washed and combed, his travelling clothes clean.
And yet... despite having met several times during his stay in the North... there was still some awkwardness between them. Some coldness. So she simply said:
“You look well, Tadcu.”
Cunvawr smiled.
“I feel well. I spent most of the last few days discussing tidings of the wider world with all manner of folk in the great drinking-houses of this land. Much beer was consumed, many jovial insults traded. Almost enough to make an old man believe he still has another score of years in him.”
Lheuwen allowed herself to half-smile. She wasn't exactly sure how old Cunvawr was – she knew he had been quite young when her mother was born, and her mother had been only eighteen when she had had Lheuwen... her mind resented the arithmetic, but another twenty years felt a little optimistic. Her heart twinged a little at the thought. She sipped her nettle tea to delay having to respond.
They were sat by the hearth in her house in Hamglen, on the edge of the Chetwood southeast of Bree. It wasn't exactly like the homes of the Dunlendings – for one thing, it was entirely the wrong shape – but she had picked one that felt closest to home. A visiting Breelander would doubtless have judged it resembled nothing so much as a barn – but then, local passers-by were generally deterred from popping in for a chat by the fierce visage of the carved totem of the Ox-clan, standing watch in the front yard.
She felt Cunvawr's eyes surveying her; she allowed her gaze to remain busily examining the fragmented reflection of the firelight on the surface of the liquid in her earthenware cup.
She heard him murmur, “Have you thought more upon my offer?”
After a moment, she forced herself to meet his gaze - briefly. His eyes were a penetrating deep blue – almost the same as her own. He had often told Lheuwen how much she reminded him of her mother. Did she imagine that she saw his mouth tighten slightly in pain as their eyes met? One could never be sure by firelight.
She heard herself saying, before she could stop herself: “I'm not sure I would call it an offer...”
Her grandfather shifted position, holding up both hands in an expansive shrug.
“Offer... request. Perhaps both.”
Lheuwen averted her eyes again, muttering half to herself: “Demand.”
Cunvawr shook his head firmly.
“It is not a demand. I do not wish you to feel under any pressure. After everything you have been through... you do not owe me anything. I just wish to persuade you of the wisdom in coming home – at least for a time. Rekindle old ties. Feel part of the family again.”
“It is not my fault that I have not been made to feel like part of the family,” Lheuwen spat back.
Blue eyes narrowed slightly – an invisible palisade going up. He responded slowly, carefully:
“I know... we have been through this. I can only apologise for what happened. I wish only to make amends.”
Lheuwen snorted. “For what happened... right.”
“Alright then, for what I did. I am sorry. You know I did only what I had to do, to protect the family. To protect the whole clan.”
She glared at him, willing her eyes to burn him with her pain - that old pain she had been forced to carry for years, that had scarred her more deeply than months numbly wandering the wilderness alone. “Then why didn't you protect me.”
Her grandfather cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, watching her face. Then he said:
“Where is all of this coming from, Lheuwen... I thought we had been through this. What has happened?”
She closed her eyes – tried to slow the rush of feelings. She didn't want to lash out at him. He was trying, she could tell. And the problem wasn't even him any more. But she couldn't tell him what it was really about – at least, not right now. Not yet.
Couldn't, or wouldn't.
She took several long, steadying breaths – waited for her heart to slow a little. Then she reopened her eyes.
“How soon can we leave?”
♦
Lheuwen's story continues here.
