12 #3
“Yes,” spoke up Iahir. “But there are treaties. There are agreements. This dragon is in violation of every single one.” He stepped up next to Gathren. “Sorry. I know you don’t want me to say anything.”
“Who is he?” said Maldred.
“Iahir nae Cirlahir, at your service.” Iahir gave a little bow.
Maldred was taken aback. “Why are you here?”
“Oh, I mistakenly saved his life,” said Gathren.
“Twice,” said Iahir.
“Your life wasn’t really in danger from that wound in your shoulder,” she said.
“I don’t know, warrioress, I was losing a lot of blood,” said Iahir.
“So, he’s traveling with you,” said Maldred. “An elf. A nae Oir elf.” He was stunned. “I suppose I should offer you hospitality. We do have a guest room, but only one, so I suppose the elf would have to stay there, and then we might be able to put a pallet in—”
“No,” said Gathren. “I could not trouble you.”
“Where else are you going to stay?” said Maldred.
“That is not your concern,” said Gathren. “And I won’t have you putting a roof over this one’s head.”
“Truly?” said Iahir. “You don’t want me sheltered?”
Gathren glared at him. “Can you please quiet yourself? Say nothing. I beg of you.”
Iahir folded his arms over his chest.
Gathren went back to Maldred. “You don’t know anything about the dragon. And you don’t know anything about what happened to my mother.”
“Well, Gathren.” Maldred’s expression was full of pity. “It’s likely he carried her off for later, I think. He probably roasted her whole and then… well, I think she’s gone.”
Gathren sucked in breath sharply through her nose. “Thank you, Maldred. I appreciate your telling me this.”
“Are you sure you won’t stay here tonight?” said Maldred. “I’m sure my wife would be pleased to see you after all this time.”
“You’re very kind, and thank you, but no,” said Gathren. Truthfully, Maldred’s wife had never much liked her, and Gathren had been dismissive towards the lady as well. They were different sorts of women was what it came down to. They did not understand each other.
It took a bit more offering and a bit more polite refusing, but eventually Gathren got free of Maldred and walked back to the farm where she’d grown up.
The barn was still standing, and she went inside. The animals had all fled—or been released—she couldn’t say. The horses were gone, and so were the chickens in the coop in the back. But it was dry in here, and she could make a bed in the loft, she thought. She’d sleep here tonight.
Iahir was trailing after her.
She was going to have to deal with him, she supposed. But first she should go untie her horse and get it set up for the night in one of the stalls. And she must, eventually, determine whether this horse was a girl or a boy, mustn’t she?
So, leaving her bags in the barn, she pushed past Iahir and went straight out to her horse to inspect the creature between the legs. She smiled, straightening. “Of course you’re a girl,” she said, untying the rope that had her horse fastened to a tree. “I shouldn’t have suspected anything else.”
Iahir had followed her.
She pointed at him. “I suppose you can tell a mare from a stallion with one glance, but leave me be about it if you don’t mind.”
He shook his head.
“I need to name this horse,” she said.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“What do you mean? Don’t I look all right?”
“You’ve just found out your mother was taken off by a dragon,” said Iahir. “The house you were coming home to is destroyed. Most people, given the situation, would not be all right.”
Her shoulders sagged.
He came closer to her. “I want to say that I’m ever so sorry about it, too. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I’m not doing it because I need to.”
“I don’t even understand why you’re here.”
He gestured with both of his hands. “I, erm, I thought if I followed you, that I could convince you that we should go to bed together.”
She let out a cry of disgust and started back for the barn.
“Wait, can I bring my horse to the barn, too?” he called after her.
“Make Haem herself smite you, Iahir nae Cirlahir,” she called back.
“I’m going to take that as a yes?”
She could strangle that man, really.
On the other hand, in a way, she was glad he was here.
No, it was only that she was glad not to be alone, really. It was only that.
But when he got back from putting his horse into the stall, and she had gotten hers settled as well—though she had not yet thought of a good name for her horse—she approached him and bent her head down and pressed the top of it directly into his chest.
And he let out all the air in his lungs and put one hand on the back of her neck and the other her back.
They stood like that, and he gently ran his fingers up and down her spine, sometimes brushing against her braid, and it went on. She silently begged him to stay silent, because she was sure that if he said anything at all, it would ruin everything.
And he was, for quite some time.
Until eventually, he said, “I don’t think that dragon has eaten your mother.”
And she pulled her head back and looked up at him. “What?”