The man was intimidating to some, with his surly demeanour, the long hair and fierce beard, dark eyes and face that rarely smiled, except to be smug or show teeth in the face of mocking laughter. But that came with the territory, his mannerisms, intentional or not, he wasn't here to make the girl squirm. If asked if he were here to lecture another, that in itself, he would agree with. Intimidate? Men like Belcaw knew that intimidation was often not effective with mere words. His intrusion upon her person in a place of healing such as this would be seen by many as anything but a friendly visit, particularly when the visitor is a sellsword who saw little in the merits of companionship, less there was something to be gained, and said sellsword came armed. But intimidate? No. She would truly know if the man had come to make her squirm. And so he sits there, boots on the edge of her bed, and Gloria glares, curls her curled fist and stares him down on equal terms, and he is equally nonplussed about the whole affair, speaking matter-of-factly in turn.
"Where a man such as m'self might fail in judgement, he don't lack in experience. Last night made a mockery of owt I stand for, dressed up like some fool t' appease your friend's own ends, to serve t' most contrived fuckin' plan I ever 'eard of in m'bloody life. But that weren't t' insult enough. T' insult, Gloria, is by your failure t'meet your own bloody obligations. Ailova? I know 'er well enough, an' I knew that woman's kind 'eart would stop 'er for doin' t' deed she so boldly proclaimed she'd do, like it were some bloody oath. Aye, I fuckin' told 'er as much. But thissen?"
There is a look he gives her, a stare, and it is a long one, deep and scrutinising.
"You? You've
killed before. Aye, I
know you 'ave. I know them eyes, Gloria Wynsee, an' I know 'em well. You might hide behind that stupid bonnet and your smiles, an' feign that ignorance o' yours. But I know your ilk. You an' your kind, with your hot sands an' all them bloody slaves, and that god of death you all bloody worship. Y'might be a Myrkener now, but that don't change where you come from."
The chair creaked slowly as he leaned back into it, breathing out his words slowly, as if keeping his own temper in check. "If owt, I'm not 'ere to judge thi fer showin' that girl mercy. I was paid for a job, an' I did it, fool I was. I jus' didn' think you'd give in so quickly. Ailova would've 'ated you for a spell if you'd run that girl through, aye, but t' cost of keepin' that girl alive will be t' greater liability, an' it'll be a great burden t'bear. Still…" He canted his head to the side, then swung his boots from the bed, shuffling on the floor as he stood to his feet.
"You're right. I didn' come 'ere t' demand coin, nor demand some bloody apology." The boots clicked, the board creaked, creaked and cracked, and he turned to stop and stare at the embers, before leaning to toss a long onto the coals. The wood hissed and snapped, then the flames licked and devoured hungrily, sparks showering up into the aether. A hand pressed against the wall, and he watched the flames burn. "I've done you a favour or two. Not t'mention savin' your bloody life. An' I need answers." The fire cracked and popped, and the man's fingers pressed harder into the wall.
You stare into that fire as if you lost something there. What was it?
"Elliot."
He turned, his arms folding slowly as he leaned back to face her, the room warming to the fire as his sword scraped a slight against the old battered slate and wood. "Elliot fuckin' Brown. Or Ser Gahald, or whatever t' fuck 'e named 'imself." The names hangs in the air, a bad taste and he shifts from his stoop, turning to face her. "I need t' know all. How he turned, what happend to him… what happened to you, what happened to others, and what t'fuck 'appened to that Olwak bitch I 'ear so much about; the one who's name gets bandied around like some dead cur, yet who still has t' power t'keep people's mouths shut even after she's dead." He felt his teeth grind, and thought of fires, of singing golden hair, and a girl's screams beyond the roaring pines.
Home. She wanted to go home."Aye. You'll tell all, an' tell it true. If not now, then soon. You owe me that much, at least."