"Forgive me."
The man's hand shook as he reached out to touch the topmost stone of the cairn. A mist rose from the damp ground and wild boar could be heard rooting into the dark places of the forgotten graveyard.
"I...I tried, Father."
Heathbrand straightened up painfully. His wounds still troubled him, though it was three months since he had been ambushed in the ruins outside of Andrath. The first in his family to be a guardsman of Bree's Watch, it seemed that he would also be the last. No more would he wear the livery and wield a sword. He would be lucky if his wounds healed enough that he could sit a horse without pain. He drew his cloak more closely around him against the damp.
His father had been a merchant of Bree, as his father and grandfather had been before him. Heathbrand had rejected his heritage of trade and his father had not hindered it, though it saddened him. In the ten years that Heathbrand served as guardsman the merchant had nothing but proud words for his son. Now that was gone, as was Heathbrand's father.
Why? Why were all these strange beings flooding into his homeland? Bree was not always like this, with swarthy strangers and straw-haired ruffians from southern lands. Strange tall folk were said the wander in the shadows of the Wood, singing songs of bewitchment. Even honest Bree-folk had been pushed aside in favour of half-men, dwarves and hobbits from the Shirelands. And the unspeakable things...the brigands and half-orcs and dead things...that had risen up kindled an anger in Heathbrand's belly that he could taste.
Enough.
If they are going to bleed Bree-land dry, then he will bleed them first. Let their greed be turned against them. Take from the takers, then rebuild the strength that had once rested in this land. He would still fight, but now, as his broken body slowly healed, he would fight according to his heritage. Wealth was the key, and there were ways to gain wealth and heal the land both. He would return to the village where he was born, to Arrowhaven, and stand as merchant, as hunter, and even as guardsman but according to his forefather's heritage. Heathbrand turned and walked up the steep incline with slow, painful steps. Let the strangers who invade his home beware. If they seek a Nemesis, then they have found him.
