she had to go and say something stupid.
She chose her words carefully, aware this was her chance to bridge the gap between them, to mend the hurt she'd already caused. "It might help me understand you better."
He straightened, his haunted expression transforming to one of puzzlement. "Truly?"
"Yeah." Jill shrugged, trying to give the impression the conversation they were having was as casual as talking about the weather. "Sort of like 'you show me your scars and I'll show you mine'."
She watched him swallow, as if the words fought to come out but he wanted desperately to hold them back. "'Tis not a pretty tale."
"Somehow, I didn't think it would be."
He sat there staring into the fire so long, Jill wondered if he was going to say anymore. Finally, he sighed and rested his arms on his raised knees.
"When I was a lad of about seven years, my father sent me to foster with Amdarch the Black."
"The Black?" The nickname gave Jill visions of a swarthy barbarian overlord who would think nothing of beating a young boy into obedience. "Was he called that because he was mean?"
"Nay." Baelin smiled as some fond memory eased the tension in his face. "He was called The Black because in his youth his hair was dark as night. But by the time I went to foster with him, it had turned more gray than not. He was a good man, wise yet firm, and he taught me well."
"You were so young. Did you miss your family?"
"Aye. 'Twas but four days walk betwixt our lands, so I was able to return home once or twice a year. Besides, his son Osmund was of a like age and we became as brothers."
He paused in his tale to turn the rabbit over the fire so it wouldn't burn.
"When I reached my seventeenth year, we set out on a journey to Egremont to fetch Osmund's intended bride. He and I rode with his father and half of The Black's knights. 'Twas a dark time for England, when the barbarians of the north plagued the land far and wide. We stayed ever vigilant, always on guard against attack. Little did we know there was another danger lurking near. Something more evil and deadly than the Vikings." A dark shadow passed over his face, like a cloud covering the sun. "Something hunting us."
"What?" she asked, although she already suspected the answer.
"Dragons. Three of them. They flew out of the sky like demons from hell. We had heard tales of winged creatures that breathed fire, but 'twas the first time any of us had ever seen them. They swooped down, burning grass, horses and men alike. I watched as half of the Black's men were either consumed by flames or mortally wounded by fang and claw. They attacked while we stood out in the open, defenseless against their power. We did not know how to fight them."
He shifted his gaze back to the fire, staring at it, almost hypnotized by it. Did it remind him of the dragon's fire? she wondered.
"They caught Osmund first. I watched him burn to death before my eyes and I could do naught to save him."
Jill covered her mouth with her hand to stop a sob from escaping. Her throat ached from the effort of holding it inside. She couldn't imagine watching someone she loved die such a horrible, painful death.
"Certain I would be next, I turned to see the beast almost upon me. Determined to fight to the very end, my last thought was to die with honor, with my sword in my hand."
His words recalled the all too recent terror she'd felt when Baelin had chased after her in his dragon form. She couldn't imagine the horror he must have gone through, a boy who was not yet a man, witnessing so much death and then trying to be brave facing his own.
"Somehow as the beast fell upon me, my sword found its mark and ran the creature through its black heart." His voice softened, the words broken. "I was knighted that very day, out there on a charred, bloody moor, by a man who had just lost his only son."
Jill jumped when his golden dragon eyes suddenly turned her way. It was the second time she'd seen them take on that eerie, unnatural
She chose her words carefully, aware this was her chance to bridge the gap between them, to mend the hurt she'd already caused. "It might help me understand you better."
He straightened, his haunted expression transforming to one of puzzlement. "Truly?"
"Yeah." Jill shrugged, trying to give the impression the conversation they were having was as casual as talking about the weather. "Sort of like 'you show me your scars and I'll show you mine'."
She watched him swallow, as if the words fought to come out but he wanted desperately to hold them back. "'Tis not a pretty tale."
"Somehow, I didn't think it would be."
He sat there staring into the fire so long, Jill wondered if he was going to say anymore. Finally, he sighed and rested his arms on his raised knees.
"When I was a lad of about seven years, my father sent me to foster with Amdarch the Black."
"The Black?" The nickname gave Jill visions of a swarthy barbarian overlord who would think nothing of beating a young boy into obedience. "Was he called that because he was mean?"
"Nay." Baelin smiled as some fond memory eased the tension in his face. "He was called The Black because in his youth his hair was dark as night. But by the time I went to foster with him, it had turned more gray than not. He was a good man, wise yet firm, and he taught me well."
"You were so young. Did you miss your family?"
"Aye. 'Twas but four days walk betwixt our lands, so I was able to return home once or twice a year. Besides, his son Osmund was of a like age and we became as brothers."
He paused in his tale to turn the rabbit over the fire so it wouldn't burn.
"When I reached my seventeenth year, we set out on a journey to Egremont to fetch Osmund's intended bride. He and I rode with his father and half of The Black's knights. 'Twas a dark time for England, when the barbarians of the north plagued the land far and wide. We stayed ever vigilant, always on guard against attack. Little did we know there was another danger lurking near. Something more evil and deadly than the Vikings." A dark shadow passed over his face, like a cloud covering the sun. "Something hunting us."
"What?" she asked, although she already suspected the answer.
"Dragons. Three of them. They flew out of the sky like demons from hell. We had heard tales of winged creatures that breathed fire, but 'twas the first time any of us had ever seen them. They swooped down, burning grass, horses and men alike. I watched as half of the Black's men were either consumed by flames or mortally wounded by fang and claw. They attacked while we stood out in the open, defenseless against their power. We did not know how to fight them."
He shifted his gaze back to the fire, staring at it, almost hypnotized by it. Did it remind him of the dragon's fire? she wondered.
"They caught Osmund first. I watched him burn to death before my eyes and I could do naught to save him."
Jill covered her mouth with her hand to stop a sob from escaping. Her throat ached from the effort of holding it inside. She couldn't imagine watching someone she loved die such a horrible, painful death.
"Certain I would be next, I turned to see the beast almost upon me. Determined to fight to the very end, my last thought was to die with honor, with my sword in my hand."
His words recalled the all too recent terror she'd felt when Baelin had chased after her in his dragon form. She couldn't imagine the horror he must have gone through, a boy who was not yet a man, witnessing so much death and then trying to be brave facing his own.
"Somehow as the beast fell upon me, my sword found its mark and ran the creature through its black heart." His voice softened, the words broken. "I was knighted that very day, out there on a charred, bloody moor, by a man who had just lost his only son."
Jill jumped when his golden dragon eyes suddenly turned her way. It was the second time she'd seen them take on that eerie, unnatural
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