Two men are sat on the floor, their backs against the wall. A tankard lies on the floor. pale-golden ale seeping through the floorboards where it fell. The first man, the blacksmith with brown hair pulled into a ponytail, still drinks from his tankard. The arms of the second one, the auburn-haired man, lie limp at his sides.
"All our friends are leaving or gone. Tylva's gone too. Left Bree, I'm sure. She always hated it here." The first man takes a slow sip from his tankard, "It's no' going to be the same anymore. There's new faces in town now, but I don' know them."
"I'm used to things never being the same. I never stay in one place, after all!" The second man watches the puddle of ale sinking into the cracks of the floorboards, clutching his head into his hands slowly. "But this place... those people... it was getting familiar. Owena. Corrinne. Loakee, at least I always had Loakee. That's the only thing I knew was constant but now he's gone too."
"Says something that you came back here anyway. Would be easier to just disappear forever, wouldn't it? Run away." The first man's expression hardens, his lips a thin line. He stares into his tankard, "You planning to stay in Bree, then?"
"I don't know. I have no idea of where I would go otherwise. I'm not very good at maps, not like my brother was. He was much better at all that... the only place that came to mind was Bree. And, ah, here." The other one tries to smile before his face sinks into his hands, eyes squeezing shut. "Owena... dead. It can't be true."
"I'm no' capable of making a joke that cruel, my friend. She's truly gone. I visited the grave."
The other man lets his head hang. A pitiful sob follows, "I loved her! And Corrinne. And Loakee!" He mutters out quietly: "It's all gone."
The blacksmith turns his head to the second man. He curls an arm around the other one's shoulders.
Sobs fill the silence of the next few moments. It takes the grieving one a moment to recover, "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this."
"At what, letting your grief out? What d'you want me to do, make fun of you for crying?"
"I could do with a laugh." The second man tries to grin, "You can have a go at it."
".... I'm not doing that." The blacksmith replies flatly, "That's just a low blow t'make when someone's grieving."
"I'm better at leaving things behind than... grieving. It's what we always had to do, after all. It really would be easier to just move on, wouldn't it?"
"Easier. But you'd be the coward for it, if y'decided to leave everything behind."
The second man raises a brow, "A coward? That's how I grew up. We go one place, pitch our tents for a few weeks, or a few months, a year or two, then we leave it all behind again. That's what's expected of us, things were no different when Loakee and I took off on our own road."
"And you don't see how that looks to the people you leave behind? You don' think of all the people in your past, the lovers, the friends you had? People waiting and waiting for you to come back, but you never did? Because that's how you 'grew up'? You and Loakee are selfish, Loakee even more so, but still."
"Selfish?" The second man raises a brow, "It's just... how it is! This is the way our family lives. Loakee and I were told to travel until we found wives to bring with us, to go back and travel with our kin."
A pause. The second man looks down, admitting, "But... I do think of them. It hurt everytime I had to leave. I miss them. All of them."
"Had? Because family says so?" The blacksmith turns a scornful gaze towards the other man, "That's a lie. I know it hurts you. I know exactly how guilty you feel. You say it's just the way it is, bu' I know you miss them and think of them. I know you've been tempted to leave, over and over again, because you can't handle the pain. You don't want to face it, so running seems like the best option, as much as you think of settling down. I know you don't because you're me. Me, the coward from three years ago, running away from Combe."
After this explosion, the first man slumps down, "I'm sorry. Tha' was untoward of me."
The second recoils at the outburst. His next words are chosen carefully, "You're no coward. I know a few things about that."
Another brief pause, then he gently asks, "What did you flee from?"
"The fear of draggin' someone else down with me. And my own jealousy. I was in love with a boy I worked at the forge with, the boy loved the girl who'd inherit the forge."
"So you loved him. And he loved her." The second man says slowly, "So.. you left?"
"Aye. I left Combe. I thought I wouldn't hurt them this way, told myself it's best for them because I would have brought them nothing but trouble. Especially because he could never be properly mine. He'd marry her, and I'd be left as... what, his fellow blacksmith? A "very good friend"?"
"Is it not painful? That you must keep it a secret at the risk of being run out of town?"
The blacksmith gives the second man a pointed look,"Of course it bloody hurts! I'm looked at as queer for not showing int'rest in women. I can't have children. And heaven forbid I try and get married. It hurts, so much. And I hate that I'll have to hide this for the rest of my life."
"You've thought of running away too, haven't you?" The other one asks. His voice is anxious - it's clear the question is addressed to himself as well, "Why don't you?"
The first man's eyes are wet, "Because I've already ran away once. I'm not running again."
"Is it worth it?" The second man's voice is small and quiet, "Even when there's nothing left? This is your home. But I have none."
"If y'can find something worth staying for, I s'pose." The first replies. His eyes go to a wooden carving on the wall, "I did."
The second man follows the blacksmith's gaze. His gaze signals understanding. He pats the first man on the back, "I see that. And... perhaps I should stay too. You do after all need someone to get you out on town, I would say. I was afraid you would wither away in your books without me."
The first one raises a brow, "And someone ought to make sure you don't turn into a sorry excuse for a drunkard. Or leave a trail of broken hearts behind."
He rises up, offering the second man a hand, "And maybe knock some sense into that frighteningly dense head o' yours."
