I’ve not put a pen to this journal for several days now. I do think I’ve had a good excuse for it. Much has happened…more than I want to acknowledge or recall, in fact. Some things, I will not talk about here, for I wish to forget that they occurred at all. I’m afraid my thoughts, at this time, will be somewhat random and scattered.
I still need to tell Conrob about my new position in Towerglan. More importantly, that my employer is not Bess, the innkeeper, as I’d first thought. No, her superior is none other than Seaver himself, which I had no knowledge of when I took the position, or else I probably wouldn’t have taken it. The work itself is no matter; mucking stalls and combing manes is something I could do in my sleep. But my interactions thus far with Seaver have been…sort of all over the place. On the evening of my “meeting”, I stopped into the tavern to inform Bess that I might be absent the next day, and he was sitting there, as casual as can be. The look of surprise on his face was only equal to my own, and I stepped over to greet him, which in hindsight, was perhaps something I shouldn’t have done. We talked innocently enough at first, and I told him of Bess hiring me, and that is when I learned, to my great shock, that he owned the place. I could tell that he’d already been drinking quite a bit, and he promptly ordered mead for me as well. I’m ashamed to say that it’s difficult to recall the rest of our conversation, as the mead slowly took its effect, and the smoke, music, and happy clamor around us put us both in quite a merry state, I’m afraid. I remember us both laughing quite a bit, and I’m sure I would be embarrassed at myself to have witnessed my own actions. At some point, Seaver managed to get to his feet and offered me his hand. Why I took it…I can only say that, at that point, I was not myself anymore. That doesn’t excuse anything, no. He pulled me to the center of the floor and…as bizarre as it is to read my own words…we danced. Brynleigh was dancing with Seaver. Even now, I’m laughing at the very idea of it. It was nothing untoward, he didn’t hold me close or anything like that. No, he pranced and jigged about like a man with no cares in the world, and I could do nothing but laugh at the sight of him, and follow his steps as best I could. Looking back, I think perhaps I was desperate for a reason to avoid thinking about what I had to do that night. For during that brief time in the tavern, I didn’t think about the “meeting” at all. And for that, I suppose I’m thankful.
I saw him again last night, as Bess asked me to bring him his supper as I was heading home for the day. He was casual and easy at first, friendly but guarded, as seems to be his way. He bade me to sit down, so I did, and we talked a bit while he ate, and all was well. Then he gave me an odd look, and proceeded to apologize for the strangely informal time we’d shared a few evenings prior, and asked if I’d made it home safely. I thought about lying and saying yes, and simply glossing over the truth. But I didn’t. Why should I lie about anything? I may keep things private and to myself, but I don’t hide from the truth. And so, I told him, vaguely at first, but the man has a mind like a steel trap, and he wouldn’t relinquish his grip until I’d confessed the entire story, not only of Lord Merton, but how I came to be in such a situation to begin with. I told him of my father. Of my humiliating past. He was understandably confused, but all I could offer were the facts. I could see a growing indignation in his eyes, and this troubled me. I hadn’t wanted to burden him to begin with, and I apologized more than once for casting a pall over his suppertime, but he wouldn’t let it go. I didn’t want him to care. I don’t want him to care. My past is my own, and my problems are mine to deal with. Oh, I can understand those who love me being concerned. But Seaver? No! My pride was already so bruised from even telling him the story, and to have him acting as though he wanted to…fix the problem somehow…I couldn’t bear the sickening humiliation. In the end, he asked me to find out the amount that Lord Merton had paid to my father originally. I have no idea how I can obtain that sort of information, but perhaps I’ll think of a way. I may simply…not try. No. No, I promised I would try. Damn it all.
Seaver also took the opportunity, while he was being so mercilessly curious, to inquire after the awkward evening when we’d stood at the Pony hearth with Nex and the others. He wanted to know why I’d looked at him so oddly, and why I’d pulled him away from her conversation. I hesitated, but he insisted he wanted to know, so I told him. Why hold anything back at this point, I thought? I told him about her attempted seduction of Aallan. And how she’d been smearing his name since he rejected her. I told him about the rumors I’d heard about him, the countless numbers of women, and a past that included whispers of cold-blooded murder. To the first accusation, he answered quite plainly. Too plainly, in fact, in terms that I couldn’t possibly write here. I will simply say that it is all true, and he was completely unapologetic for it. There really are no words to express how uncomfortable it was to hear him say these things. This man that I hardly know, a man that I have a working relationship with. Of course, it’s all too easy to understand, for he is young and dreadfully handsome, and I don’t doubt he pleases his women, in the carnal sense, anyway. Whether or not he is capable of loving any of them, I find doubtful. The man is a mystery of sharp edges, fleeting smiles, and brooding silences. I’ve not forgotten the sandy-haired stranger I first saw in the Prancing Pony not so long ago. Alone, nursing his bottle of rum, his head bowed as if the world sat on his shoulders.
He also addressed the more violent things I’d heard about him, and claimed that, while he had done his fair share of killing, he was not a murderer, and had been falsely accused. I may be naïve and idealistic to believe him, but believe him I do. I’ve seen many things in his eyes; regret, rage, loneliness, confusion, and a terrible sort of lostness that pains me deeply. But not evil.
And I have yet to tell my beloved of this new job of mine. Granted, it’s been less than a week since I took the position, and my mind has been much occupied with the ugly business of you-know-who. I pray he understands, but I fear he won’t. I worry that he’ll equate me working at the inn stables to me having some sort of relationship with Seaver, when in truth, I’m likely to see the man very rarely. He is no danger to me, after all. And we need the extra money, for our future together.
