Hunt for Forgiveness

“I need none of your wisdom this night, Gwyneira.” Einar was quick to speak over the scraping of the front door dragging against cold stone, granting a prowling lioness entrance into her den. The fact that he heard the normally silent woman's arrival at all told him all he needed to know of her mood. If he did not speak first, there would be no chance to say what was needed. “Nor do I need your chastisement.”

“Chastisement?” She moved further into the room, light from swinging lanterns caught in a night breeze casting harsh shadows across her lithe form. Dried blood from the village's newest clansman, a babe with strong lungs by the sound that hailed his arrival, coated her healer's shawl. Einar paused in checking his armor as he wondered if his own blood would be joining those dark stains tonight. It would not be the first time blades were needed to come to an understanding between himself and his stubborn wife. “And why would I need to chastise a fine warrior such as yourself, husband of mine? Surely you are not thinking of doing anything worthy of my ire.”

“I leave with Valde and the men before first light. You shall not stop me. My decision has been made, woman.”

The silence was a blade no armor could defend against. Green eyes so beautiful that the mere sight of them could tie a dying man's soul to this world speared through him as if an enemy's lance. Einar did not drop his gaze. He was not a coward who would turn and hide away from a woman's ire. He also was far from foolish, so he did not dare speak into the silence she wielded as masterfully as he wielded twin axes.

“Woman, am I?” A goddess' grievance rang true from Gwyneira's mortal form. Einar dropped the leather bracers he'd been carefully inspecting with little regard, moving swiftly to reach for his wife's blood-stained hands even as she continued speaking. “I have been called many things by you, my love, but never any such name or curse in the very tone that you wield to command a mule.”

“Forgive me, Gwyn, I misspoke in temper.” Einar was earnest in speech and manner, but he knew by the bite of nails against his palms that his beloved lioness was far from satisfied.

“I found out you were dining with Sir Valde from the wagging tongues of stationed guards between the screams of a life-bringing woman. I learned of your sworn oath of aide on this mad adventure that cankerous troll of a warrior has planned from drunken men returning after sitting at that very same dinner table between the gasping cries of a woman as she fed a baby the elixir of life for the first time. And I learned just now that my husband must have had more drink than I moments ago thought if he dares to stand proudly before me and utter 'woman' as if being so is anything less than a blessing. Truly, the barrels must have been emptied by noon and the good wine opened if you have forgotten a woman is capable of carrying life while men only carry piss and shit. The only true miracle to behold in that is the latter of the two is able to come from both ends.”

Einar remained silent and unmoving when faced with such a fierce tirade, but internally rallied himself against the relentless show of rage that once sent suitors fleeing the Healing Hall with red cheeks and curled shoulders. He'd witnessed that temper more times than age allowed his mind to remember, but it never failed to leave him stunned in disbelief and awe of the flame that forged his wife's bladed tongue.

“You are, as always, right. Sweetened cups are not an excuse for poor words or sharp tones. Forgive me, Gwyneira. I was wrong to speak to you in such a way.” Einar said only once the burning flame in green eyes banked to a low burn. He breathed out softly in relief when she allowed him to rest his head on golden braids. The sting of crescent marks marring calloused palms were soothed by the coolness of small thumbs brushing gently across the broken flesh. “I knew talk of my pledge would reach you long before I could, but I did not think you would take the news so badly.”

A simple huff was all he received in answer. He mourned the loss of her steadfast presence as she pulled away, taking all her warmth and strength with her, but followed obediently when instructed to take a seat. He waited, watching attentively to her every movement, before continuing once she was settled across from him.

“I have pledged my services to Sir Valde on his upcoming trip to Myrdril. I will lead one of the hunting parties once we reach the Black Forest, and scout for the tribes that live there.”

“Why must you go? You have served this clan longer than any other warrior.”

“I pledged service to this clan. To serve-”

“You pledged service to Chief Bragock!” Gwyneira snapped, fierce as any wild thing. “Who hung his sword and shield for a life of pipe and drink twenty years ago. You served him well and deserve peace for the rest of your life.”

Einar held in a sigh. He looked to his wife with equal parts fondness and exhaustion. He'd known she would argue him, and he knew he had to tell her the truth to make her understand. In the end, he trusted Gwyn to stand aside. The knowledge that she would relent did not make the words come any easier.

“I am why his sons are dead. I deserve no such peace.”

The quietly spoken words, ringing with truth and pain, stopped Gwyneira from any further defense. He watched as she fell silent in face of his solemnity.

“What happened thirty years ago was not your fault.”

“I am why your brother is dead.”

“It was not your fault.”

“You were forced to marry me, because I had to take his head.”

“That's enough of that.” Her tone silenced him. “No man has ever been able to force me to do a single thing. You offered your hand. I took it willingly.”

An argument sat at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back down. It was an old fight that he'd never been able to win with her. She would never see his offer of marriage as the mercy everyone else saw it as. It mattered little that he had loved her since the first time he saw her when faced with the shameful punishment her brother received. No one else would have taken her as a wife after Friske was beheaded for making it through battle without a single wound, while Chief Bragock's sons lie dead from enemy blades at his feet. His offer was made out of hope to save her from hardship, but his stubborn wife never failed to argue it as another show of love.

“Friske is dead because he did not protect those boys as he'd been meant to do. He was distracted and disoriented from drink and pipe at a time he was trusted to be of sound mind and body. My brother got himself killed. I mourn him, Einar. I mourned his loss long before his actual end ever came. My brother was gone from me before that day of bloodshed and tears ever darkened this clan. Do not think I will ever blame you for his death.”

“I blame myself.” Einar said with a harsh breath. He'd never spoken the words to Gwyneira, but she did not look surprised or troubled. There was only understanding and sorrowful acceptance. “I blame myself for the deaths of those boys and your brother. He was my shield-brother. I knew he was slipping further under the pull of tavern cups, but I did not station myself beside him. I was on the other end of the hunting party that night. The boys were lost to the world before I could reach them. They were too young to leave it, Gwyn.”

“It was not your fault, my love. One day, Einar, you will see that.”

“I cannot.”

“You will.”

Einar couldn't help but to laugh at her conviction. She was always steadfast in her beliefs. Not once had he ever seen her waver. Not when their youngest was taken by a thief's arrow, or when their eldest fell to an enemy's sword. Gwyneira, his goddess in mortal form, never swayed from her chosen path no matter the bodies that fell alongside it.

“How?”

“You will forgive yourself. One day. Is that not why you have signed up for this venture? To guard our new chief's eldest sons?”

A nod was all he could offer as answer. He said nothing as Gwyniera stood with squared shoulders and a raised chin. She knelt by his side, carefully gathered the bracers he carelessly abandoned earlier, and met his gaze with resolve.

“Do what you must, but come back to me.”

“I cannot promise you that. I will never lie to you.” It was a painful truth, but one he was forced to acknowledge. He was not the young warrior he used to be, grayed by time and aged by old wounds. Negotiations with the tribes living in the thrice cursed woods always ended in bloodshed many younger warriors never returned from. Einar knew his going was a risk.

“You need not lie, my love. Just promise me that you will try. Go on your hunt into the wilds. Find that forgiveness you search for, capture it, and come back to me.”

A brush of lips silenced any further argument. He didn't know if he would succeed, but he had always done his best to meet all of Gwyneira's expectations.

“I will try.”