The Quiet Guest

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 12th February 2024
Series: The Hunt for Gil

Characters: Rhysel, Amigene
Description: The cotholders' mysterious guest wakes up
Location: Emerald Falls Hold
Date: month 9, day 10 of Turn 11
Notes: Follows EFH: The Fugitive and takes place just before DCW: Closing In

It was early evening, and warm by the cothold's hearth fire, and Amigene
felt herself growing drowsy. She sat in her rocking-chair with a pair of
Rhysel's spare trousers in her lap, working on letting out the hem at
the ankles, with a lamp on the table beside her to light her work. At
her feet, the man they'd found in the outbuilding lay sleeping on the
old rug, covered with blankets and a bandage to protect his eyes.

Unexpectedly, he was still alive, and his fever had broken, though he
still hadn't shown any sign of waking. If he did, he'd eventually need
something to wear. The clothes he'd come to them in had been so tattered
and filthy that she'd had to burn them in the yard. That left her
husband's clothes. As well as she could judge, the man was around a
half-handspan taller, and the fever on top of whatever he'd suffered
before he came to them had left him painfully thin where Rhysel was
sturdy, so they'd needed some adjustment.

She held up the trousers and shook them out, frowning. "Not exactly
Gather-best, but they'll do for now." It wasn't as though he'd be strong
enough to go anywhere for a while. Folding the cloth, she placed it on
top of a spare shirt, this one with the sleeves let out. "Now you just
need to wake up."

She had discussed what would happen then with Rhysel. He had wanted to
flag down a runner to send word to the Hold, but the sight of the man's
scarred back had disturbed both of them. Perhaps his reluctance to be
found, by dragonriders or anyone else, was because he didn't want to be
returned to whoever had done that to him. Amigene thought he deserved
the chance to tell his story first, and Rhysel had grudgingly agreed.
One thing was for certain, he wouldn't be any kind of threat to them for
some time. He was barely strong enough to lift his head, and his eyes
would be sensitive.

All the same, Rhysel had remained near the cot, working out in the yard
where she could easily call him, and he'd left his heavy staff propped
against the wall by the door.

Amigene picked up some more work from her basket - a shirt with a tear
in it to be stitched, but let it lie in her lap, her eyes closing as she
thought over the rest of the day's chores. There was a vegetable stew
she could heat up for their evening meal, and she could see if the man
would swallow a spoon or two of the liquid...

Her eyes snapped open. Something had alerted her. A shadow, moving in
front of the fire. The man had worked his arm free of the blankets, and
his fingers brushed at the bandage over his eyes.

"Don't touch that." She put the torn shirt aside and hastily knelt
beside him, pushing his arm down and tucking the blanket around him. He
groaned faintly in protest, but didn't have the strength to resist.
"Ssh. Lie still. You've been very poorly." Leaning across him, she
picked up a cool cloth from the basin by her chair and replaced the one
that had fallen from his forehead, first checking his temperature. He
was warm from the fire, but the burning heat of the fever was gone. "Are
you thirsty?"

He made a soft sound in his throat which could have been anything, but
she guessed meant yes. Taking a rolled blanket from the stack, she
lifted his head and slipped it under, then got up and went to the door
to wave Rhysel over before fetching a jug of water. She poured a little
into a bowl and helped him to drink.

"He's awake?"

"Yes, I think so. Take those boots off, and keep your voice low."
Amigene let a little more water trickle into the man's mouth. "Can you
hear me?"

She felt his head tilt forward a fraction. "You're going to be all
right, but you need rest, and to keep your eyes covered for a while.
It's very important. Do you understand?"

Another faint nod.

Rhysel crouched down beside them. "Ask him who he is."

"Give him time," Amigene scolded. "More water?"

She let him sip a little more before putting the bowl aside, then helped
him to rest his head again. Beside her, Rhysel shifted impatiently.

"Can you speak? Can you tell us your name?"

The man was silent for a long time, but just when she'd started to
wonder if he'd fallen asleep again, his lips parted and he made a soft
sound.

"What was that?" Rhysel asked.

"Gillek - I think?" She hadn't quite made it out. He didn't agree, but
didn't correct her either. She decided to leave it, ask him again when
he was stronger. "Gillek, do you have a family? Someone who'd want to
know you're safe - who might be looking for you?"

The reaction to that last question was sudden. His whole body tensed and
he tried, weakly, to push himself up. "No - no..."

"Easy." Rhysel laid his hands on the man's shoulders and pushed him
gently down. "You're all right, lad. No one knows you're here. Rest." He
turned a troubled gaze on his wife, and she knew what they were both
thinking of. The man's back, raked raw and scarred. How could they tell
if he was a victim, or a dangerous criminal - or both?

"Try to sleep. You'll be stronger when you wake. We can talk then."
Amigene tried to sound more reassuring than she felt. She rested a cool
palm on his forehead. Slowly, the tension in him diminished, his head
sank back onto the pillow and he lay still. Rhysel pushed himself to his
feet, but he remained inside the cot, working on odd chores, long after
the man's breathing had steadied and he'd drifted off into sleep.

***

Months had passed and the seasons changed, and Amigene and Rhysel knew
little more about their strange guest. They had found out that his name
was actually Gilbek, though he'd answer to Gil, and he knew how to do
little chores around the cothold without being asked, which made Amigene
think he'd grown up somewhere not unlike their home. Light jobs at
first, mending and stirring pots and sweeping the floor, then scrubbing,
fetching and carrying, helping Rhysel fix a post in the porcine pen.

Sometimes he asked diffidently if he should leave, as if he feared he
was trespassing on their hospitality, but Amigene always reassured him.
Not yet. She wasn't sure how, since he wouldn't say where he'd come from
or who his family were, but she didn't think he had anywhere else to go.

Rhysel had asked about his back, more embarrassed than suspicious, but
Gilbek hadn't seemed angered by the question. His face had closed off in
the way it did when either of them asked anything about his past, but he
had explained a little. He said he'd disobeyed an order and been
punished, but he'd given them both his word that he'd broken no law.

Amigene believed him. It made her blood boil that someone had done that
to him, but he wouldn't say who, or where. And if, as she suspected,
there was someone of rank involved, what could they do?

The sevendays went by, and even Rhysel seemed to stop brooding over
whether the man might bring trouble down on them. He was pleased to have
the time to relax, since Gilbek more than earned his keep. They kept
finding places in the cot where he'd been at work - a cupboard door that
no longer squeaked, a dusty corner that was cleaned of spinners' webs.
One day, he went out in the morning and came back with some fallen
branches from the woods and a length of rope from the old shed where
they'd first found him, and started constructing what Rhysel said was a
trap, for avians or small beasts. He went out with it in the evening,
and the next night the cothold had meat for dinner.

Sometimes she wondered if he might stay forever. Rhysel and she weren't
getting any younger, and they'd never had any children. They'd always
thought they'd have to give up the cot if they got too old, seek shelter
at the nearest hold. It wasn't something she liked to think about. The
Holder was all right, but on the few occasions when she'd met his wife,
she didn't think the woman liked the idea of having another two aged
mouths to feed.

Then there was the Holder's cousin, who came round to collect the
tithes, threw his weight around and wasn't above helping himself to
whatever he fancied from the cotholders' larder. Amigene always
carefully locked up her jewellery when she heard his voice in the yard.
The last time he'd been here, he'd given Gil a long, speculative look.
Gil had been quiet and respectful, as always, even when the man had
treated him like a drudge, until...

It was when he'd made some coarse joke in front of Amigene that she'd
seen Gil look up and meet the man's gaze steadily. For a long moment,
the cot had fallen silent, and she'd held her breath, her instincts
warning her, tension crackling in the air. There was something about Gil
in that moment that made her think of the wild feline she'd mistaken him
for when they'd first found him. She knew that he would hurt their
unwelcome visitor, and he wouldn't feel any pity at all.

Then the Holder's cousin looked away, started to bluster, and the moment
was gone. Gil looked down, back to his work. There were no more
unpleasant jests, and the man took his leave the moment Rhysel had
finished loading the tithe cart.

The next evening, Gil had started to construct a bow. Amigene wondered
about that, and where he'd learned how to make it, but when it was done
he'd taken it out on his occasional hunting trips, and come back with a
large wherry that had fed them all sevenday. She didn't ask any questions.

He was out there now, leaving early in the morning with a pack, the bow
and Rhysel's old hunting knife. Amigene had spent the morning washing,
and now she was out in the yard, pegging out the damp clothes under a
cloudless sky. She'd have to alter those trousers again - Gil had grown
stronger, he wasn't quite so thin any more...

A shadow passed over the sun. She frowned and tilted her head back,
shading her eyes. Not a cloud - a speck of green.

Dragon wings...

Last updated on the February 14th 2024

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The Quiet Guest