She had come to Snowbourn for two reasons. She had never expected to find a third.
The first of them had led her to a house on the east side of the city; the home of the boy, Tagen. He was six, nearing seven now, as Taala had said. Tall for his age and with hair every bit as red as his mother, freckled cheeks and wide eyes shining with mischief and innocence. A beautiful boy and sure to be a heartbreaker when he grew to manhood. Silver smiled as she had watched him at play with a handful of other youngsters, kicking a stuffed pigs bladder to and fro, later chasing one another in a game of Orcs and Riders. A happy soul. Although he watched her warily when she had first approached, ready to run home should she make any sudden move, he had soon relaxed when she had offered assurances and a few of the more child-friendly jokes in her arsenal.
"I have come all the way from Bree to give this to you," she told him, offering out the sigil of the Bloody Dawn. "It belonged to a woman who cares for you more than you will ever know. It now belongs to you."
"Who?" he had asked simply, eyes shining with wonder as he thumbed the trinket.
"I'm not allowed to say," Silver had bitten back a regretful sigh, replacing it with a gentle smile. "But know that she thinks of you every day."
Having perhaps said more than she should already, Silver had tousled his hair and tipped him a wink before going on her way, leaving the boy standing there with a huge grin, his friends oohing and ahhing as they too looked at the token.
"Did that no-good wretch Taala send you?" a woman had asked sharply as Silver passed by. "Tell her the boy's better off! He doesn't need her!"
"That no-good wretch is one of the most genuine people I have met," Silver had responded quietly but firmly. She had no desire for Tagen to overhear the conversation, brief as it would be. "Strong of heart, mind and character. Would anyone say the same of you?"
"Bah! What would you know?" the woman had scoffed unhappily as Silver had walked away. "Yeah, that's right! Go! We don't want none of your ilk here, southerner!"
Silver had paid the insult no mind. She had heard far worse over the years. Besides, it would do no one any good for her to engage in an argument in the streets, especially not the child! Instead, she had given a cheery little wave over her shoulder as she had continued on her way to her secondary destination.
The tavern. Heart and soul of all things Eorling. A place where men would come to trade exaggerated tales of their exploits, both real and imagined, where the drink flowed as freely as the tongues wagged and the over abundance of horse-head carvings screamed of their pride and obsession with their steeds. The one in Snowbourn was clean and tidy, unlike so many others she had been to in her wanderings, but the drinks on sale were limited in scope.
She had been there for several hours, nursing a tankard of mead - a drink that she despised with a passion, but one that would be sure to aid her in giving the impression she desired. At first, the inhabitants had been less than welcoming of her, given her complexion and eye colour, but with the telling of a few tales of her own, a scattering of particularly ribald jokes and one or two bawdy songs, she had managed to put them enough at their ease that they told her all she needed to know. When she had elected to leave, one of the patrons had followed.
More than a few cups in, unlike her, he had been none too stealthy in his attempts to tail. Still, she gave no sign that she was aware of him, even striking up a cheerful hum as a way to help him think that she could not hear his heavy footfalls or the skittering of loose stones. Ducking down an alley between houses, she smiled as she felt a hand clamp down upon her shoulder, unresisting as she was spun around and pushed roughly back against the wall.
"You shouldn't have come back," Aerlick snarled, breath reeking of alcohol. "You shouldn't even be alive!"
"True," she mused agreeably. "But I did and here I am. Would it be too much trouble, do you think, for us to have a civil conversation?"
Although her words were pleasant, her tone one of warm humour and ease, her heart beat quickly within her breast. She had been told that Snowbourn was his residence now, but had not thought to come face to face with him quite so soon. She had meant to visit him on the morrow, to meet with him in daylight where onlookers might be able to prevent any real unpleasantness.
Oh well, she sighed inwardly, this would have to do.
Rather than reply, Aerlick balled up his fist. He growled as he drove it into her lower abdomen, forcing the breath from her lungs. How many times had she felt this, she wondered. How many times had he utilised a gut punch as an opening salvo, a means to soften her up before embarking on a protracted beating? It was never any different. He had never possessed the imagination necessary to change up his routine. Any moment now he would... ah! There it was!
She ducked aside as his fist came for her face. His continued grip upon her shoulder made it impossible for her to move far, but she didn't have to. It was just enough that he, in his addled state, couldn't pull his punch as it traveled past her countenance and straight into the wall. She felt an odd sort of satisfaction as she heard the knuckles crack. He yelled in pain, letting her go as he took a step back, stricken hand held up to shoulder height.
"Really?" she asked with mock despair as she circled around, moving her back from the wall to the open. "We couldn't just talk?"
Bleary blue eyes fell upon her, his square features contorted with rage and hatred. She held up her hands in a conciliatory motion, not that it made a blind bit of difference. Emitting a low growl, he dove toward her, meaning to bear her to the floor beneath his greater weight. All that he received for his efforts was a mouthful of mud as she quick-stepped backwards.
"This hostility really isn't necessary," she tried again as he pushed himself up to his knees.
Anything else she might have planned to say was cut short as he lunged forward again, this time wrapping his thick arms around her calves. Set off-balance by the move, she crashed down to the floor, the back of her head slamming into the dirt. Momentarily stunned, she could do nothing as she felt him clamber up and over her.
No, she thought as she felt his uninjured hand clamp around her throat. No! Not you! Not like this! No!
With a strength born of terror, she wrapped her hands about his wrist and bucked, rolling her body to the side. He fell free, too inebriated to hang on. Scrambling to her feet, she leaned against the wall, coughing and spluttering while behind her he rose as well. It was the angry yell that gave him away. She spun around just in time, pressing her hand to the back of his head as it went by to aid him in his face-first collision with the wall. He slid down, dazed in turn and she...
She found her patience withered, her scant compassion for this hateful creature gone. Although not a violent woman at heart, she could not help but act out of fury, decades of pent up animosity and fear rising to the surface like hot bubbles in a lake. She kicked, again and again, catching his ribs, his legs his arms, anywhere that she could. When he tried desperately to rise, to fight against her, she pushed and punched and snarled.
When finally her mania had run its course, when finally he sat in a battered heap, groaning and leaking blood, she stopped. Chest heaving with ragged breaths, she stared down at him, this half-brother, this man, this despicable cretin and she felt... nothing.
"You forced this," she told him harshly, silver eyes narrowed as if to dare him to argue. "Ever your mothers' son. We're done, you and I. It's over."
She stumbled away, back the way she had come and to the stables where Steel and the packhorse waited. She had meant to stay within Snowbourn for the eve. She had meant to take a good rest in a warm bed but now it was all she could do to get away from there! He wouldn't dare follow her again, surely? He wouldn't seek her out after this.
Drunk he may have been, but she had proven herself, she thought. If not to him, then to her. If naught else came of this confrontation, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he no longer held power over her. She was no longer afraid of Aerlick.
Now, she just had to come to a similar understanding with the others.
