[Rimbaud]

Guthrin started and looked up at Dwarin uncertainly, his left hand shielding his eyes from raindrops, although the thick boughs of the oak diverted most. He said nothing but gazed at the bearded warrior. He licked his lips nervously. Dwarin sighed and sat beside him, back against the thick damp trunk, gazing out into the forest. Guthrin shifted uncomfortably but did not leave.

“Guthrin…” began the Dwarf uncertainly, not sure of how to deal with this weak-willed and troubled individual. Guthrin did not turn his head towards Dwarin but a sneer curled back his upper lip. Some of his matted hair, wettened from the opulent raindrops, fell into his grey eyes and he swept it back with his left hand. His right arm was clutched across his chest, and Dwarin realised he had hardly used it since rejoining the party.

“You can have the sword back,” muttered the tall Rider, and unbuckled the scabbard from his wide leather belt. Before Dwarin could protest, Guthrin had laid it across the Dwarf’s knees and returned his attention to the deep greens of the woods.

Seeing an opening, the Dwarf pulled the blade from the sheath, expecting some resistance. The blade pulled smoothly and quickly and he sliced open the top of his thumb. Cursing quietly in his guttural tongue, he extracted the blade fully and gasped. Where there had been blackened stains, from dried blood and burnt on filth from the fire and a night in the open, the blade now shone, a dull silver. The edge was clear and sharp. The bindings on the handle were loose, however, and without a word, Dwarin pulled out a length of twine and set to correcting the grip. Guthrin paid him no heed.

The rain fell steadily as Dwarin worked and behind him he heard the others rising and talking. None approached him however, and for this he was grateful. An hour or more passed and slowly sunlight cut through the branches and broke into multifarious hues as it intersected the thick droplets of rain. When he had finished, he sighed and re-sheathed the blade. He handed the scabbarded sword back to Guthrin; the Rider did not move at first but eventually, slowly, took back his weapon and awkwardly affixed it to his belt again, the length running parallel with his long legs, away from the tree. His feet were bare and dirty. Dwarin sighed and tried again.

“Guthrin, I know what happened at the battle. I know you were there. What happened to Flandhere? You saw him, did you not?”

Guthrin flinched at the name of the dead Rider. He looked at Dwarin then, and the Dwarf found himself inexplicably cold as the pale grey eyes bored into him. He tugged at his beards.

“Flandhere died,” said Guthrin finally, in a voice stretched to breaking. Dwarin wondered at the pain. “He was protecting me.”

The Dwarf absorbed this and said, in a steady voice, “Death happens. To all of us, it happens. Some fear it and some embrace it. Flandhere was a good man.”

Guthrin half-sat up and looked directly at his companion. “Protecting me!!! As if I were an infant!”

“Then he indeed died a noble death, for giving one’s life to save another is the finest sacrifice,” growled the Dwarf, although he longed to be rid of the cowardly fool. “Indeed, you live, so he succeeded.”

Guthrin shook himself and seemed to gain better control of his body. His eyes focused on the forest again. “When he died,” he started, in an even-toned voice “something changed in me. I…” His voice faltered and stopped.

Dwarin remained silent and lowered his eyes to the ground. He felt weak sunlight strike his grizzled face.

“I don’t remember much from that night,” finished Guthrin in a voice clear at first, but lowering and darkening. “I killed those that were there and then followed the noise of battle.” He closed his eyes and his right arm shivered violently against his chest. “ I don’t know how many there were or many came against me.” His voice was bleaker then any that Dwarin had heard and it cast chills down the Dwarf’s back. The voice held a pain and agony deep to the bone. For the first time, Dwarin saw the great doom laid upon the man and some of his heart softened. Guthrin continued. “I saw them standing over Thenamir…achhh.” A tear rolled down his cheek, a small drop of water compared to the deluge around them but Dwarin could watch nothing else, as it trickled through the stubble on the face of the man from Rohan.

Guthrin opened his eyes suddenly and the Dwarf half-jumped. “I dreamt about it, Dwarin,” said Guthrin, the words flowing quickly now. “I dreamt about myself. I dream about it every night. Only I’m not me!!!! I’m watching me. I see what I did, again and again. I look…hideous, grotesque!” The words came so rapidly Dwarin could not keep up. “They fall around me…they can’t touch me. Dwarin, I’m good with a sword. You can have no idea. Hah!! How could you know? I was trained, Dwarin, I was trained. By the best in the Mark, I was trained. Guthrin the Swift they called me as a child, for my sword was as quicksilver. But…” He stared again, silent for a few long seconds. “But…it came too easily. It always did, and I always won. My father was proud once, but I started to lose. Once at first, then often. They loved to best me, the others! They loved it. When I was fifteen, I…” He shuddered. “I paid some of my father’s servants to come with me and we… killed the son of one of the Captains, a boy who had bested me in tourney. When my father found out he whipped me. He paid the other Captain to keep it quiet. Since then, I…denied it all. I tried to seem better than all the others.”

Dwarin listened expressionlessly. He wished he was anywhere else.

Guthrin jumped to his face, and Dwarin only just caught the grimace of pain that crossed his face. “Dwarin, I can help! I can be more of a companion to you and the others.” The rain fell unchecked over the tall Rider, but he did not seem to notice. “I am not useless,” he whispered hoarsely. The distance in his eyes remained.

‘Thank you, Guthrin,” said Dwarin, slowly. “You saved our lives, that night. I…hope the scars for you do not run too deeply. There is a long road ahead.”

“The roads of some are shorter than others,” said Guthrin and turned, and walked back towards the others, who as ever, avoided him. Dwarin watched him go, thoughtfully. The rain fell, a ceaseless patter around him.