Recovery and greetings (Duelist part 3)

Slowly, I awoke. It was difficult to wake up. My body felt drained of energy, despite it being morning. The warmth of the sheets made it even more difficult. It seemed like a fog was in my head, clouding everything, and obscuring anything that wasn't immediately obvious.

Thoughts seemed to not want to connect. Basic things, like where I was, what day it was, and what had happened the day before all seemed lost to me.

My eyes still closed, I could slowly feel the fog lifting. With the lifting of the fog within my head, came a rush of emotions.

My eyes burst open, and I shot straight up in the bed. A quick look around the room confirmed what I already suspected. This room wasn't my own.

The walls were clearly made from aging stone. They looked well kept, but even still, it was clear the stones were aging. Off to the left was a window. Light shined through despite the curtains, casting a light illumination over the entire room.

Slowly, I tried to move my right leg, only to gasp in pain. I tore off the blankets, only to be greeted with a disheartening sight.

Both of my legs were bandaged heavily. The cloth wrapped around the each leg in numerous places, with each roll of cloth being held in place by a single pin. Looking it over, there were five such wrappings on my right leg, and another three on my left. As I sat there, looking at the bandages, a flood of memories started to return.

 “ Of god.” I muttered, as I felt the entirety of the previous night's events wash over me.

It all came back to me then. The war horns signaling the start of the raid. The sound of horses racing around the village, as swords clashed outside my house. The desperate panic as dad tried to hurry everyone out. The fear as I had to run through the burning streets, desperately hoping not to get separated from my parents. Even the terror of the man riding up to us with sword drawn.

I threw my hands over my mouth, desperately trying to keep from crying. It all was coming back, in great detail.

 “ Run.” I muttered. Those had been my father's final words. He had screamed at me to run, to save myself, even as I watched him getting stabbed.

He had had no weapon. No one in my family did. Yet he had been cut down just like the rest. I shuddered, looking down again.

 “ Why?” I asked out loud.

 “ I wish I could tell you.” Someone replied.

If not for my legs, I would have leaped straight out of the bed at that moment. Instead, I grabbed the blanket, moving to cover myself.

In the far corner of the room, was a man sitting in an old wooden chair. I had failed to see him at first, as his chair was sitting a well shaded corner of the room.

He was clearly aging, though for someone of his age, he looked rather fit. His hair was graying, though his face remained well kept. His beard was kept short, and mixed in well with his mustache. His entire physical appearance definitely made him appear to be an old warrior.

He was dressed in brown pants, and a simple white shirt. Looking at him, I guessed that he had woken up not long before I had. Even still, he looked exhausted, as if waking up had taken all the energy that sleeping had given him.

I immediately recognized him. He had saved my life last night when I was trapped. He had fought to protect me on two occasions, dispatching the first opponent with ease.

My thoughts trailed off then. Slowly I looked down at my hands, half expecting to see them covered in blood.

 “ It’s not easy taking a life, regardless of how much someone deserves it.” The old man said from across the room. Clearly, he could tell what I was thinking.

I watched, partially fearful, as he raised himself from the chair. Beside the chair, I could see his sword, housed within its scabbard.

 “ Where.. where are we?” I asked, struggling to get the words out.

 “ Your safe. I didn't want to chance a fight while carrying you, so I brought you back to my place.” He explained.

I nodded. I vaguely recalled being carried up a hill, and I also faintly remembered having my legs attended to. Between the shock, the exhaustion, and wounds, it was no wonder I was still feeling exhausted.

 “ Don't worry about your legs. You had some cuts, and a burn on the right leg, but no broken bones. Give it a day or two and you should be back on your feet.” He told me.

I felt my spirits lift a bit at that. It was a small consolation given everything that had happened, but it was still welcome. He stood beside the window, his hands at his sides, as he spoke.

 “ Who are you?” I asked finally, the question nagging at me. He sighed visibly.

 “ Maxwell.” He said.

 “ Thank you for saving me last night.” I said. His face turned cold at that moment, and I could see him clenching his fists as well.

 “ After all the mistakes I have made, i’m not sure if you should be thanking me, but you're welcome.” He said.

I wanted to argue with that. He had charged into the village, and had worked to do what he could, with little regard for his own life.

Even as I thought this, I remembered his conversation with the masked attacker. The two had talked as though they knew each other well. Their conversation had even seemed to hint that the old man had helped his opponent at one point. I could tell that there was more to his words though. He wasn't referring to only last night's disaster. He was referring to something else.

 “ Wait, what about the former general? Wouldn't he have tried to protect…” I started to ask.

Suddenly, it occurred to me that I might be talking to the former general. His talent with the sword had certainly been great. However, he raised his hand, as if asking for me to stop. He sighed heavily.

 “ I'm not him.” He said simply.

 “ But the attack. Surely if he was able to, he would have…”

 “ No he can't!” The old man shouted.

Still confined to the bed, I retreated as best I could, while watching the old man trying not to start crying. It was all perplexing. Here was this great swords man, who could easily pass for the former general, especially given his age, and yet he seemed so sure that a local hero would never help the people he had spent years protecting. As I considered it, I realized that there only existed a few possibilities for his answer.

 “ He’s dead then, isn't he?” I asked. The response was a simple nod. He looked up, and breathed out slowly.

 “ I suppose there's no point in hiding it any more. He died two years after he left guard. I buried him myself.” He told me.

It was easy for me to do the math in my head. That placed the time of death around eight years ago. I could tell there was more to this story, but I decided not to inquire. It was clear that this wasn't something he wanted to talk about.

 “ So now what happens?” I asked, changing the subject. The old man seemed to regain his composure with the change in conversation.

 “ I’ll go make us some breakfast. You can eat in here. I’ll see what I can do about getting you a change of clothes.” He said.

I looked down. I was still wearing my night gown, but it had several gashes in the fabric. It felt difficult to call it clothing at this point. It felt more like wearing a set of tattered rags.

 “ I'll see what I can find for you to wear. I don't know if they will fit great, but they should do till the markets are back up.” He paused for a moment. “ Speaking of which, your family probably is… Oh…”

He trailed off then. Looking at my face, it was clear that he realized the truth. I hadn't just watched my father die last night. My mother had been caught, and god only knew what they had done to her.

 “ I'm… sorry for your loss. Please, stay here as long as you like. ” He said, as he started heading towards the door again.

 “ Elise.” I said.

 “ What?”

 “ My name. It’s Elise.” He put on a smile for the first time all morning at that moment.

 “ Nice to properly meet you, Elise.” He said.