The moon glows bright in the sky over the roaring fire. Silfurfal is much quieter than it was just a few hours ago. Warriors are still pacing the perimeter, scouting parties still searching the area. Clerics are still surrounding the Idol searching for answers. Anything to explain how this could’ve happened – how they can prevent it in the future.
Alone in the dark just inside the gate, a man stands searching for answers of his own.
All the pieces of the broken gate are still laid across the ground. Splintered wood speckled with blood – he briefly wonders if any of it is his daughter’s. He knows the blood to the right is. Heard the allied forces talking about her facing three of his people on her own – how an archer shot her multiple times at short range in that spot. He knows she must’ve fought with everything she had. He also knows – so did they.
“Jorah?” A voice calls, several footsteps quickly following.
“Here,” He calls back, turning to see a man and his daughter, Runa, jogging towards him.
“There you are,” she says, “You weren’t back with the others, I was worried.”
“I needed a quiet moment.” He says. The town is full of voices now, but he knows moving forward will be much quieter. So many of his friends, his packmates, are gone. The constant, bustling movement of the village will be gone soon. Everyone he knows here who survived will be moved away, who knows how many would return?
Would he?
“We can leave you-” the man who approached speaks, but Jorah cuts him off.
“You are… Halfdan? I remember you. We sent you out months ago and you never returned.” He questions.
“We ran into their Warcamp. They cleansed our whole group that day.” Halfdan says, looking back at Runa. “Your girl tried to help me understand what was happening and came back later again to check on all of us.”
His daughter. His Runa, the girl who would’ve burned this village to the ground if it meant no lives would’ve been lost. Maybe burning it would’ve been better – maybe it could burn away the echoes of Mordok screams in his head. Screams he knows now were never Mordok.
“I thought maybe he could help you, dad.” Runa says.
Jorah looks at her. He sees the track marks through her warpaint from tears spilling out of her eyes, sees the blood still caked in her hair and clothes, the sag of her shoulders.
He remembers his little girl standing at the door of his forge, tears streaming down her face, back hunched and shoulders sagging with guilt, holding a broken arm ring.
“Sorry, dad,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean to-”
“Remember what I told you about mistakes?” He asks her.
“We always try to right our wrongs,” she says.
“Exactly.” Reaching his hand out to her, he continues, “Now come, I’ll show you how I fix these. It will never be the same, but we can try.”
He sees her now, standing in front of him, looking just like that little girl he remembers, carrying her guilt on her shoulders. He thinks – maybe this is the closest he’s ever been to his daughter. Both beat down and broken, just the same as the gate doors strewn across the ground.
“I think I’d rather be with my daughter, Halfdan. But thank you.” He says, reaching out to her now. She takes his hand and squeezes. He isn’t sure if the squeeze was for him or her, but he squeezes back anyways.
“Of course,” Halfdan waves at them and walks back towards the main area.
“I don’t know how to help you, dad.” She says, “I couldn’t save-”
He cuts her off. “They tell me you were our warrior in the last moments. You wanted to save the villagers.”
“I tried.” She says, sagging deeper into her guilt.
“I tried too.” He says. The weight of his words sink deep into them both.
They stepped outside the outpost to sit on the wooden bridge. The orange glow of the fire illuminated the few Ulven who had been released from the cleric’s care. Their broken bodies were still wound in bandages while they await further care.
Nothing compared to the bodies outside the walls, awaiting their early morning funeral.
“What now, Runa?” Jorah says, more forlorn than she has ever heard him.
“Well, it may never be the same, but we can try to right our wrongs.”