The night was nearly spent now. The stars had begun to fade as a faint blush lightened the far horizon. All was silent save for the soft breathing of Ghali, but it would not remain so for long. Soon enough the birds would begin to wake and, shortly thereafter, the early risers amongst the local population. Daybreak would follow and with it a new host of problems eager to take her attention and time.
She bit back a sigh. The problems for the day ahead would be dealt with as they arose. For now, she wished only to consider the issues of the recent past and how it had come to this.
Alone, lost in a foreign land and with a rapidly dwindling supply of coin, Gilsel was forced to do something she had never before done; she had to find a form of employment. A paid job with which to lay the foundation for independent living. She could hardly call upon her father to send her more funding lest he instead send a more sprightly and alive man to return her from whence she came. Nor could she call upon her brother; he had made his position clear enough. She was on her own.
But what could she do? The life of a scribe would be only marginally less tolerable than the one she had fled. She had no skill for the more common arts, required by all but considered too base for her to know. Any attempt to become a barmaid would be short-lived, she knew; she was ill-suited to having drunken men drool in her direction. Gilsel Arnenoth, Shopkeeper's Assistant seemed unlikely and unappealing whilst she had not the skill or experience to collect bounties on the various unpleasant denizens of the land.
It was as she wandered the somewhat muddy cobbles of Bree that she had seen a flyer boasting the bravery of a local mercenary group and offering employment within their ranks. The Bloody Dawn. The name was ridiculous but the flyer was well written and of decent quality. Perhaps warriors as great and hardy as this group claimed to be might have some use for her?
It was as she had stood outside the Prancing Pony, breathing in the night air and simply enjoying the peace and quiet that she had first met him. She had barely spared him a first look, never mind a second. Tall, dark skin, dark hair, male. That was all she had bothered to take note of when he had stopped beside her and cheerfully requested company and the sharing of a beverage. In as polite a manner as she had been able to muster, she had refused him and, turning her mind back to her dilemma, had thought no more about the man.
It had come as something of a mild surprise then, to find him sat within the pretentiously named Dawn Hall, a large structure set upon a small parcel of land from which the group apparently operated. Reluctant though she had been to take this route, she really did need to start earning her way and, as it transpired, these men were in need of skilled healers as she had expected. It was not what she wished to do with her life, but it would suffice until she could accrue new skills with which to forge her own path. She had been, if not impressed by the captain, then at least appreciative of his forthright nature and no-nonsense demeanor. She had also been quite appreciative of being hired on the spot.
Following her impromptu interview the captain had departed, leaving her alone with the man from the night before. At first, she had not remembered him but he, it seemed, had recalled her. They had spoken long into the evening, undisturbed and unchaperoned. It would have been deemed quite scandalous back home but here it had simply seemed normal. Quick witted and handsome though he may have been, she thought no more of him when she had finally departed his company.
In the days to come, he had been everywhere. No matter where she was or who she spoke to, he would not be far behind or far away. Most often she had no one to talk to but him and this she did not find in the least bit objectionable. His humour was enough to cause even her to smile more than once and never did he press his attention upon her. He had been respectful, gentle and accepting even when he did not fully understand. That he was of Khandish origin had only made it all the easier for her to fall into a friendship with the man. Whilst they were from very different backgrounds, holding differing views and opinions born of vastly different cultures, they were both in the same situation now.
Baingorn had not approved. Not in the least. Indeed, he had warned the variag to keep his distance from her, threatening violence should Ghali start sniffing at her hem. She had stood up for him, and why should she not? He had been open and honest about his past and his present and had shown no interest in her attire beyond its hue.
It had been weeks before he had even hinted at a wish for closer ties between them. Initially, she had thought nothing of it, dismissing the notion as just another of his jokes, even when he had taken to kissing her forehead. It was, after all, an undemanding gesture, a show of affection that required no response.
Then came the night when he had shown her his house. Their talk that eve had lasted far longer than it should have. Before either had realised, it had been too late for her to take the long walk back to town. He had offered her suitable clothing and a bed for the night. His bed. With him in it also. She had been prepared to verbally flay him for making such a suggestion and implication of her morals, but he had been quick to make it clear that he expected, and would seek, nothing from her. Sleep was all that he wished to share. Still, she had been sorely tempted to leave when he had admitted his love for opium.The very thought of clouding ones mind, of dulling the senses, on purpose and without any immediate medical need was repulsive to her, but the openness and honesty with which he discussed his habit had convinced her to stay if only for that one night.
True to his word, he had done nothing untoward over the course of their time in his bed. Indeed, they had simply slept until sometime after dawn. She had woken before him and made an attempt to rise without disturbing him. Her efforts however, had been in vain. Still half asleep when he realised what her intention had been, he had almost begged her not to leave, to stay, to lie warm and safe in his arms with not a care for what others might think or what tomorrow would bring. For a time she had, at least until hunger and thirst had made themselves known. Before she departed for her daily tasks, he had asked her to consider staying in a more permanent capacity. The bed was large enough to hold them both and she would save a good amount of coin from not needing to rent a tavern room. It was something to think about, but she was reluctant to accept. Whatever it was between them, be it friendship or something more, it was still too new for such a large step. Indeed, when later that day she had learned of cheaper rooms available in the White Wolf tavern, an establishment owned by an associate of the Bloody Dawn and only a short walk from the infirmary in which she now worked, she had been all too relieved.
Then, she had met Meary. A young girl, pretty, quick witted but far from lady-like and displaying little in the way of sense, forethought, grace or social understanding, her nose had been covered in fresh bite marks. As it transpired, those marks had been placed there by none other than Ghali. Surprised that the man she knew would be so rough with a young woman, Gilsel had sought to speak with Meary in a more private setting. A few probing questions later and Meary had heavily hinted that she and Ghali had shared more than a little play fighting. Indeed, she had flatly stated that he had been disloyal.
Gilsel had come away from that meeting with a lot to think about. She had retired to her room in the White Wolf pensive and confused. How did she feel about this? How was she meant to feel? He had been honest in telling her that chasing skirts had long been a hobby and, she thought, honest when he had told her that he had given it up because of her. He had been open about his love for poppy even knowing that it could have driven her away and had seemed so very genuine when he spoken of his wish to never lose her, to have her stay. But if what the girl said was true - and for what reason would she lie? - then Ghali had not only lied to her but played her for a fool. It would hardly be out of character for a man who had so gleefully recounted tales of conquests past to seek another of her or Meary, would it? Still, what would be gained from condemning him without a chance for rebuttal? Resolved to speak with him before deciding which course to take, she went to bed that night unsettled and unhappy.
She was less happy still to find him as she did the very next day. He lay there on a bench in one of the Pony's back rooms, eyes red and face swollen, covered in bruises and reeking of poppy smoke and ale. Nearby, sitting comfortably with a drink of her own, was none other than Meary. Gilsel felt her anger rise, the same one she had experienced upon the ship. She choked it back, burying it harshly beneath the weight of good breeding and professional politeness. Livid though she was, she did all in her power not to allow her metaphorical grip slip even an inch, reminding herself time and again of the lesson she had learned at sea: lose your temper and people die.
Several times she had to bite back her words, choosing something more passive than those she wanted to spit at the pair. Several times she wanted to tell him flatly that whatever they had was done, that Meary could have him, that he had better pray to whatever power he held dear that he never found himself injured and in her care. She held her tongue however, refusing point blank to air her grievances with a third party present. Instead, she had helped him home.
In the hours since, they had spoken at length. He had told her everything, sparing no detail however repulsive. He admitted a moment of weakness but had insisted that even had the girl been willing to keep their tryst a secret he would not have gone through with it, too wracked with guilt from the thought of hurting her. That guilt, in fact, had been the cause of his overindulgence of opium and that, in turn, had led to the fight that now left him black and blue. He even admitted his hopes for a future with her, that she might come to trust him and perhaps even love him.
But that was the problem, was it not? Could she trust him, now or ever? She had to an extent, at least until the day before. She would have trusted him with her life, although not with her chastity, up until Meary's revelation that he was not at all the man she thought she knew. The respectful man he had shown her was also one who would beat a young woman and threaten to kill her. The man with only a minor habit for narcotics, just a pinch every couple of days and no more, had indulged himself to the point of senselessness, barely able to sit never mind stand or walk unaided. The man who had been so supportive of not ruining her reputation as a respectable lady was also the one who had acted in such a vulgar and despicable manner that his own disgrace would reflect upon those who associated with him, the company and herself included.
Torn between what she wanted to believe, what she could believe and what she did believe, her mind whirled. With no clear path to resolution, she had decided to take a chance. Turning to face him, she had allowed only a little of her seething fury to surface as she had told him in no uncertain terms that one chance was all he would ever have with her. She was no one's fool and she would certainly not be a fool for him. To make her point, and the consequences of betrayal, crystal clear she had also pointed out that she had both the skill and the will to render him a eunuch in the event of infidelity. He had readily agreed to her terms.
Had she done the right thing? Had she made the right choice? Should she have walked away and left him there? She didn't know. She could never know for sure. The only thing she was certain of at this time was that Baingorn would not approve of any of it and yet, at some point, she would have to tell him. Not of all that Ghali had done, nor of her nights wearing his clothing, sleeping innocently and peacefully beside him in his bed. It would be bad enough trying to gain his acceptance of her having entering into a relationship with this particular man without going into any further detail. But that was a problem for another day.
Now she stood in a room that was not hers, wearing a robe that was far too big for her. Hands still clasped behind her back she stared thoughtfully out of the window at the slowly encroaching dawn whilst behind her, upon the bed, lay the sleeping form of Ghali.
