The Mournful King

XIV. Stay

The Silent felt more asleep than awake when he levered himself up into a sitting position as the first few rays of dawn started to break over the horizon. Mus was already awake, nosing around in his bag for food. He hadn't replenished his ration supply, so he only had a day or two's worth. That had been a poor decision on his part, but he hadn't really thought things through. He still felt feverish and now a gnawing pain from hunger was eating away at his stomach, but he was stronger than he had been. Throwing himself in the stream seemed to help with the feeling of heat and lingering grogginess. It didn't help the chill that set in almost immediately, as the water had been bitter cold.

It hadn't been a good decision, but that seemed to be the only kind of decision he could make these days.

He knew that he wanted to return to Tamaris, but he was fervently certain that he had no place there. If Andraste heard the content of his conversation—if it could be called that—with her mother, he imagined that she would have less than no use for him. It left the Silent uncertain of what to do or where to go. He started to pace once he was dressed again, now that the chill had animated his mind. Mus sat down on the grass nearby, focusing his intense eyes on the horse until the war-hardened beast started to shift uncomfortably. The Silent didn't envy his mount.

It was the sound of hoofbeats on the road that drew him out of his half-hearted thoughts. His stomach tied itself into a knot. It was coming from the direction of Tamaris. There were any number of possibilities there, but he wasn't certain what to hope for. Maybe that was his own guilty conscience speaking. He shrank into the woods, leaving his horse and Mus to hide themselves, not that either seemed to have any inclination to.

Two riders appeared around the bend, slowing to a walk as they sighted the horse and the hell-hound. The Silent hid himself against a tree, but he could recognize the armor without a moment's hesitation. The figure gleaming like the sun in polished metal was undoubtedly Ekundayo. The smaller form with him in dark armor was Andraste. It had to be. The Silent felt the ache come back. Something that might have been the remnant of a heart was lodged in his throat. It was too much to hope for that they would have let him go.

Andraste slid out of the saddle and landed lightly on her feet, Imperial armor not slowing her down in the slightest. She took off her helm and brushed some of her hair out of her face. Mus loped over, bouncing around her like an eager puppy. The Silent could hear her talking to him in her own language. She sounded tired, like she'd been riding all night. He recognized a few words, but for the most part, he had no real grasp on what she was saying. Ekundayo crouched down where the grass was flattened and the Silent's blanket still lay. "He has not gone far," the warrior-king said calmly. "I will wait at the bend for you. But...be careful. Desperate men do desperate things."

The Silent felt the sting in those words, even if it wasn't intended. Did Ekundayo really think he would hurt Andraste of his own volition? Then again, perhaps it stung only because it was honest. He was a creature of desperation, particularly now. He wasn't certain he could escape this, though. For one, she was right by his horse, and secondly, maybe it was better that he face her. He wasn't going to like it, but perhaps she needed to see him for that path to die.

"Silent?" Andraste's call was soft to the point of being tentative. "I know that you're here."

He took a deep breath and willed his feet to move towards her even as every instinct screamed to flee. He wasn't sure which course of action would be more cowardly, but with his teeth gritted, he kept moving until he broke free of the treeline, emerging into the small clearing at the edge of the road. Ekundayo was a distance away, barely beyond the bend. Close enough to hear if things went badly, the Silent supposed. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, hands clenching into fists. His body was like a high-tension wire, practically vibrating with nervous energy as he heard Andraste move towards him. She made barely a suggestion of sound, a ghost amidst the grass. The western woman moved delicately, like someone stepping around broken glass.