Dorin Voiena's Story

It was the acrid tang of urine that finally awoke him. Early morning sunlight filtered through the cracked shutters illuminating tiny speckles of silver dust floating lazily in the air. Behind the wooden shutter the window was wedged open by a block of wood and a cold draft swirled a soiled drape. A shiver ran up his spine and he realized that he was naked beneath the thin gauze of his bedsheet. A groan escaped between parched lips as he propped himself up an an elbow that protested loudly beneath his weight, muscles too confused and tired to function properly. Quiet voices filtered in through the window, livestock grunted hungrily and the odd raven cawed at the winds. A dull throb had begun in his temples and he clenched his eyes tightly shut as though he could force the ache from his pores by sheer will alone. Deprived of his eyesight he could only focus on the strong smell of the place. Beyond the stench of human waste was the huskier waft of wood-smoke and the sweet aroma of lavender battling valiantly against the odds. Fresh pain caused his eyes to water when he finally mustered the courage to peel away his eyelids, and he had to blink a few times as he swung his head left and right to clear them. Warm tears trickled down his cheeks and dripped onto the curls of hair on his bare chest. Crina had hung the pouch stuffed with lavender beside the window and each fresh breeze carried with it the softening scent. Once he had taken pleasure in it but this morning it only reminded him how worthless he had become. A lead weight had settled in his chest and no strength he could muster would shift its bulk. Just to stand took a great effort and each stiff movement was acompanied by the pop of joints or the heat of an overused muscle. He rubbed away the sleep from his eyes and focused again on his surroundings.

It was a modest home even by the standards of Marga. Two tiny rooms. One in which to cook and eat, and one in which to sleep. What few precious items they owned were carefully stored inside a heavy leather-wrapped chest that was kept beneath the bed. Dried leaves had fallen from the torn mattress and now littered the floor around the chest; he would have to re-stuff it soon, he knew. Slowly he folded his sheets and smoothed out the crease in the pillow; a rough mold of his young daughters head. A bitter smile tugged at the edges of his mouth, for what rose in his throat was as much sorrow as love. Swallowing a ragged sigh he tugged on a cotton tunic and fastened his belt. A rub of his face and a run of fingers through his hair reminded him that he must bathe soon; a weeks hair now covered his face and his dark curls had become greasy and lank against his scalp. With little fresh water a bath meant travelling to the streams, though - those had not been safe in recent weeks. Beyond the walls of his hovel he could hear the scuffle of feet entering the toilet built only meters from their walls. Only the knowledge that never again would he awake to the walls around him gave him the strength to open his door and greet the world beyond.

"Da'!"

Of all the sounds in the world only one could serve to steady his heart even as it squeezed his heart into a thousand pieces. It was early moring in Marga and the town was busy with people beginning their labours. Through the thick of the crowd he spotted the owner of the voice. Ginger curls framing a thin, delicate face bounced as she skipped towards him with a smile that dazzled him even more than the sunshine. Crina had dressed her in a pretty brown frock today; knee-length and with green and white thread sewn into the hem to mimic ivy in bloom. It was to be a special day for Doina; her first beyond the borders of her village. She jumped upon her last step and flung herself against him. Dorin held her against his chest and craned backwards so he could look her in the eye. A weave of lavender had been weaved through her curls, and for once the smell did not remind him of their poverty. Bright blue eyes stared back at him with a startling clarity that never ceased to unnerve him. They were a perfect reflection of his own eyes.

"Da' you were snorin' again las' a'night," he drawled. He voice was thick with the villagers accent, unlike his own. "Ma' tol' me you swallowed a'nuther mouse bu' I dun believe 'er." She scowled at him. "You should n'ae drink so much, Da'!" Her tone was mock-seriousness, but there was a pleading behind his eyes that made him look away.

"I know, floare," he replied quietly. His own voice held only a twang of Doina's accent; he reproduced the softer tone of his mother. It was the accent of the Eastlands she had told him once, though he had yet to taste its air. He set his daughter down. "It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

She sighed, still mocking him. "Ma' was lookin' for you by th' stable."

"Alright. Go inside and pack the rest on your things, floare." H tussled her hair, much to her chargrin and then stepped past her to head towards the stables.

---

"Di' you see Doina?"

Crina had paused saddling the horses when he had walked into the stable. It wasn't anger reflected in her eyes or her voice, though. It was fear, doubt and worst of all; pity. He offered her a sad smile and nodded his head. She returned the smile with a bare sincerity that twisted at his heart. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He took a step towards her but she shook her head and cast her eyes down to the ground. It sung. Not because she had rejected him, but because it was he who had rejected her. He paused, lost somewhere between the world and his thoughts all rushing through his mind. There barn had the strong smell of freshly turned hay and the familiar sweat of a horse; good smells, ones that calmed his mind. Crina looked up again with tears glimmering across the surface of her eyes. Green like the hanging mosses, and beautiful in their pain. He closed the gap and cupped her cheek in one hand. He brushed away her tears with the tip of his thumb and planted a kiss on her forehead. She nodded silently against his chest, and for a few fragile moments they were in love.

They were broken as soon as he dropped his hand from her face. She sniffled and used her sleeve to dry her eyes. "I set Doina to packing the rest of her things," he said, trying to fill the growing void between them. "I upset her last night, didn't I?" Crina turned to look at him, rose-bud mouth pressed together tightly. "Did I shout?"

"N'ae." A single world that contained more pain than any tear. "You cried," she whispered, one hand idly clasping the buckles on the saddle. "Doina wan'ed to know abou' th' Eastlands, abou'er Nana. Instead'a talkin' you jus' cried silently until she wen'a sit in th' kitchen. Din'ae come back 'til you'd begun t'snore." She buckled the final clasp on the saddle, whilst he stood in silence and hung his head against his chest.

"I'm sorry."

"I know." Silence. "I jus' hope tha' Doina un'erstan's tha'."

Unable to find the strength to cry Dorin simply nodded his head and filled the hollow in his chest with chores.

---

Few of the folk of Marga had assembled to wish them farewell. Most had turned their backs and thought bitter of a huntsman deserting them in search of greener pastures and myths of distant lands where no beasts stalked the night. They thought him a fool, and all the worse for dragging along a child and her young mother besides. Those that did turn out were the friends of Crina and Doina; a smattering of equally young woman, Crina's elderly mother and a handful of of the towns children. Dorin waited with the horses whilst they said their goodbyes. A light rain had begun to fall and it drowned out whatever words passed their lips. Dorin was left only with his thoughts and the toil of distant thunder. It would be a long, hard storm and a tough. By the time his family rejoined him his cloak was sodden and the ground around them had turned to thick, sludgy mud. The horses snorted their irritation, struggling to gain any purchase on the ground whilst their hooves sunk into the soil. He brushed calloused fingertips against ones nose to calm it.

"Are you alright?"

Crina smiled softly, a gesture that said more than a thousand words. Beneath the droop of the rain-soaked hood her blonde hair was plastered to her face and her cheeks were flushed with the cold. Doina was in little better state even though she was wrapped in elk fur. Her tiny figure shivered in the wind and rain.

"Will we see 'em again Da'?"

"One day, floare," he lied. He never expected to touch foot to soil in Marga after this day, much less taste the putrid air or wake with a dull, lasting pain between his eyes even when he had not fallen asleep drunk. Lying to his daughter left a sour taste and the bright smile she offered him only drove a nail deeper into the pit of his stomach, pinning his soul against a cold, barren bedrock.

Crina mounted one of the horses with Doina nestled in her lap and Dorin climbed the other. Both were good, strong horses that had cost him four months of hard labour. They would carry them to Wulfhaven within two cycles of the moon and still fetch enough coin to buy them fare on a merchant vessel. They had many miles to cover before then, though. He didn't see Marga disappear behind them. In truth he had not even thought of it until they had been on the road for an hour at least. Part of him wished he had offered a more tender goodbye even if he had few warm memories of the place. Instead as the weather had swamped any idle chatter he had drifted into his memories and allowed the time to slip by and the sky to turn from an overcast white to a fast darkening grey.

---

Birdsong lilted beautifully against the steady trickle of the stream. The first warm summer in years had turned the darkness of the forests into a verdant green backdrop punctured with bright, sensual bursts of colour as flowers struggled into life. A family of deer, bolstered by the turn in the weather, drank freely from the stream with no fear of the two humans dangling their feet into the same waters only thirty feet downstream. The youngest, a baby newly born, wavered on untested legs as it dipped its head into the water. The smell of a fresh, clean forest filled his nostrils and he could not help but smile broadly at the marvelous beauty of it all. It was the first time that he had ever marveled at the woodlands around Marga; the first time he had ever felt that small ball of warmth he would later could to recognize as hope.

Dorin, aged five, shuddered at the sharp contrast between the heat of the suns rays and the icy chill of the streams water. Beside him his mother dangled her own feet into the water with a smile as broad as his own. He watched her for a long time in silence, studying her features intently. She was so different from everyone else he knew; so foreign sitting in this forest. Even with its beauty it seemed indistinct when placed against her. Though his skin was dark her own was burnished copper and it seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, as did the fiery streaks in her auburn hair. Once his father had told him a story about his mother: He had said that one lonely night by the coast he had been struggling to light a fire, only for once solitary lump of soggy wood to magically spring into flame. He had laid a kiss against the branch and when he had opened his eyes, there stood his mother in the fire smiling warmly. At age five Dorin saw no reason to doubt this. Even now the sharpness of his mothers beauty, even in memory, made him wonder.

They had spent that morning simply enjoying the company of one another, free from the dreary village they called home and the superstitions and fears that went alongside it. His mother told him stories of her home, a land far across the ocean. She said that the whole of G'ael could fit into it a dozen times, but he didn't believe her. Even the moon wasn't that big! It was a memory of such innocence that he could not help but chuckle. She had told stories of great deserts, thick jungles and mountains that scratched the sky. Even in his wildest dreams he could not truly envisage these things, even with the boundless creativity of a child. They were wondrous stories, though; ones that filled him with aspirations and desires. It was the beginning of the journey on which he now found himself, he knew.

---

They spent that night huddled beneath a lopsided wooden shelter. Thick leaves piled against the branches served as a measure of waterproofing but even so the rain found its way to them. With no dry wood to be found anywhere Dorin had been unable to keep a fire going for more than a few minutes. In the end they had chewed on the end of a loaf of soggy bread and then huddled together for warmth, drifting in and out of fitful bursts of sleep. It was a miserable night in which the howls of wolves kept them all constantly on edge.

In the dead of night those memories of hope seemed more distant than ever.

Rough waves crashed against the side of the boat and a steady downpour of rain had soaked them through to the bone. A chill and settled down in his core and the toil of the boat had caused him to hurl up his meager breakfast, leaving the bitter taste of vomit in his mouth and a horrible dry scratch in his throat. With the sky overcast with thick grey clouds the mid-morning light was barely enough to see by and they had been navigating blindly for over ten minutes, struggling to find their way back to the estuary that would see them safely out of the stormy waters. Of the five people in the boat he was the youngest; around him were his father, older brother and two other grizzled villagers holding tightly onto nets dragged to and fro. It was his first time out to sea. The closet he had ever come was floating a raft across a lake in the summer, and even that had filled him with a fear so total that he had burst into tears half way across. For a year after his brother had threatened to tell the other children in the village what a coward he was, though he never did.

Dorin had never been sure what to make of that. Whilst Vasile had not told the other children he had told their father, and Teodore had been so disappointed that Dorin had run away into the woods alone. Teodore was a widower and Vasile was the fruit of another woman's womb; whilst he had never been a cruel brother had constantly sought out his fathers affection, afraid that Dorin and his foreign mother would somehow steal him away forever. It stung all the more than Teodore never acted to change this even when his wife begged and pleaded. It stung, then, when Teodore did not come to find him in the forest. Tired and hungry he had eventually returned alone, head hung low and unable to hold back a steady stream of tears that only earned him more contempt. His mothers sympathy did little to repair the damage that had been done; she had not had the courage to stand up to Teodore, after all. Dorin had been alone.

It was for that reason that he now huddled at the back of the fishing boat, shivering violently and biting hard on his cheek to keep from chucking up his stomach for a second time. The rain had thickened and now they seemed surrounded by a grey haze broken only by the white spray of waves breaking over the ships bow. The bitter taste of salt stained his lips and made his eyes water. He was glad for the rain then; if they thought he was cowering at the back of the boat crying, all his hard work would have been lost. It had taken months for him to convince his father that he could handle the day at sea, that he would become a fisherman just like he and Vasile. He could afford no slip-ups.

"Dorin!" The voice was Vasile's. "Co'e'n'elp me wi'h th'net!" The ferocious battering the weather was giving them all but drowned out the words, and much of Dorin's strength, but he nodded and scrambled towards the front of the boat anyway. Drenched through as he was, it took a few seconds to work any warmth into his fingers and even then they felt stiff and ungainly on the coarse weave of the net. They began to pull as one, struggling hard against the pull of the tides and the weight of whatever their net had snared. "Har'er damn i'!" he shouted again, accent thick in his frustration.

"I'm trying!" Dorin tried to reply, but his voice was quiet and lost to the noise around them. He gave up and focused on trying to haul the net into the boat inch by inch, arms screaming with agony after only a minute or two. Little more than a child, Dorin was simply not strong enough to be of much help to Vasile. Teodore's voice boomed.

"Ou'a way, Dorin!"

Panicked that he had ruined everything, Dorin scuffled backwards as fast as he could and made a space for his father to take. His back hit something hard. There was a shout, one filled with fear and surprise. Dorin turned, wide-eyed and with his mouth agape as he watched Vasile tip over the edge of the boat. His older brother stretched out a hand but Dorin simply sat, dumb-struck as his arms began to wheel in the air for purchase and then he was gone, plummeting into the water. A mad scramble began, people pushing Dorin out of the way and hurling limbs and nets towards the drowning boy. Vasile's arms flailed above the surface for a few moments whilst wave after wave crashed over his head.

Frightened screams ripped through a gasp as his head broke the surface for the last time.

---

Dorin awoke with a start to find himself laying in a puddle of water at least an inch deep. Groggy and disorientated he tried to push away the memories unearthed by his dream and struggled to recall where he was. Crina and Doina were both curled up against his body, shivering in their sleep and as pale a white as he had ever seen. Unconsciously he drew them both closer to his body as his whereabouts slowly returned to him. During the night the wind had blown away the leaves stacked atop his shelter and the rain had poured freely through the branches to drench them thoroughly. Even without that the storm had been so heavy that their shelter now appeared to be built in the midst of a fledgling stream carrying dirt and leaves into the brush. Even the birds refused to sing this morning; as like they were too cold and miserable on such a dreary day.

Dorin unfurled himself from the tangle of limbs and stood, stretching the stiffness from his limbs and grimacing at the way his wet clothes stuck to his cold, clammy skin. The horses were a few meters away drinking from the stream, though they too shivered in the cold breeze. He made the decision to get them moving as soon as possible; no doubt they would all be ill soon anyway. If the horses began to fall sick it would add days to their journey. If this weather kept up they might even be forced to turn back. He simply couldn't do that. Not now. He woke Crina and Doina softly, and bid Doina to go feed the horses. Crina, on the other hand, refused to stir.

"Crina, get up damn it!" he snapped.

"Wha's th' rush, eh?" he drawled, voice heavy with sleep. She didn't even open her eyes to look at him.

"If we don't get moving we're all like to catch hypothermia. It's for the best." He was trying to be patient. Doina would hear if he raised his voice and he had hoped this journey could be a fresh start for them; a chance to do over their - his - mistakes and make a better life for each of them. He knew that Crina would ruin it, but so soon?

"As'f you c're," she replied and waved a hand towards him in an effort to shoo him. He grabbed her hand and squeezed tightly on her fingers. She opened her eyes with a mixture of hurt and shock. He let go of her hand and cast his eyes down, defeated. When he looked at her again her eyes were still locked on him, blazing with anger. "Bastard." She enunciated it as he would, to make sure he could not misunderstand. He opened his mouth to respond but only a dry rasp came out; he could not argue with her. Dorin ran a hand through his hair with a weary heart; his hands felt heavy as lead and the light had seemed to fade around him all at once. Whatever fresh hopes the morning had held had been crushed by the world already.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the wind.

"Y'liar! You ca'nae feel remorse, bastar'," she spat. Dorin glanced up at her quickly, struck by her cruel words. It was the ring of truth in them that stung him, that Doina truly believed what she said on some level.

"How can you say that?" He was aware of how pathetic he sounded, stranded somewhere between pain and shock.

"If y'cared 'bout us a'll you'd stop fuckin' u' your daugh'er wi'h your drink an' misery!" She shouted. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Doina looking towards them with wide eyes. He tried to speak, but Doina cut over him. "Your nae bu' a pi-"

"Shut up!" Dorin shouted. this time the anger in his voice was loud enough to silence her, and every other sound in the forest. He lowered his voice, and something in the soft anger of it finally struck dumb his wife. "I swear on my mothers honour if you raise your voice before our daughter again, I will strangle you were you sit."

---

The next hour passed slowly. The tension between himself and Crina was palpable and Doina simply sat with her eyes downcast, unable or unwilling to meet either his or her mothers eyes for the entire length of time. Once the horses had got moving they had picked up some warmth and vigor again and they had begun making good time despite the waterlogged mud they squelched through. The riders on the other hand still shook violently in their sodden garments and none of them had regained any colour to their skin. Dorin had begun to worry; even about Crina, whose lips had turned a swollen blue. They stopped so Crina could pass her stool.

"Da', why d'you an ma' shout a' eacho'her all th' time?" Doina had shifted her weight in the saddle to peer into his eyes. There was a profound sadness in him that shredded his heart, for he knew it all belonged to him.

"We're just scared, floare." The words came out as a whisper. Funny that his child should find more courage to face the truth than he. "Your mother has never been beyond Marga before and I..." he trailed off, and stared into Doina's eyes for a long time.

"D'you love Ma'?" He had expected to see pleading there, but what he saw was a doubt that poked a thousand holes through his defences.

"Yes," he answered in a cracked voice. If it was the truth he could not say. The emotions he felt for Crina were so twisted and ruined that he could not find the place where hate ended and love began. He knew that she loved him though, for all his flaws and mistakes. He let out a sigh that deflated him utterly. "We both love you, floare. Don't you ever forget that," he said, voice stronger this time. Doina smiled shyly and stuck out her tongue.

"You'er so soppy!"

He laughed. It was his first free laugh in days, and it sounded strangely out of place in the shade of the forest. He laughed then to spite the darkness and Doina joined him, until the pair of them were holding their sides and laughing simply because they could see no way not to. When Crina returned from the bushes she stared at them for a long time in morbid silence. They paused long enough for their cheeks to turn red before bursting into fits again, doubling over to gasp for breath. Doina, so short of breath from her giggling, doubled over so hard she toppled from her saddle and landed in the mud with a splash. That set even Crina to laughing, a tears streaked her dirty face as she knelt beside Doina and brushed the mud from her nose. Between them they tidied her up and got her seated on her horse again. As Crina made to move away Dorin caught her wrist and tugged her back to plant a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. They shared a shy smile for a fleeting second.

"Ew! Gross!"

---

Wulfhaven.

It was not the first time he had seen the large stone walls of the town, but even so the scale of them seemed far greater than what he recalled. Such things were so rare in these lands that they deserved to be looked on in awe, and all three of the Voiena's paid it their due diligence. In their silence they began to hear the sounds of commotion from the town. They approached cautiously, and Dorin unconsciously slid his hand around the pommel of his sword. Crina and Doina were still struggling to comprehend the sheer size of Wulfhaven and probably saw nothing strange in the noise within its walls.

"Who goes t'ere?!" The voice was shouted from the top of the walls.

"Townsfolk from Marga! We're looking to buy salt at market!"

"Marke' is close' a'for the minu'e, stranger. You ge' t' wa'ch a hangin' instea'!"

Dorin frowned. The guard waved them through. It was rare that he had heard of a hanging in Wulfhaven, especially one big enough to shut down the market in the middle of the day. A sliver of worry crept into Dorin, and he bid Crina and Doina to take the horses to the Inn stables whilst he went to investigate what was happening in the town. Caution still gripping him firm, Dorin buckled his sword-belt around his waist before he trudged off towards the the noise.

A large mob had gathered outside the prison building, the mass of shouting people pressing in against its walls. He could make out the polished helms of the guards wedged between the crowd and the flagstone jailhouse. A large number of the crowd were hurling abuse and a good few of them were throwing clumps of mud. Dorin had a strong sense of unease; it felt like a situation that could only be satiated with blood. As he moved through the edges of the crowd he began to pick up the details of what had happened. They had a werewolf in a call. A breach last night had cost the town a handful of residents, and they demanded their repayment. Dorin could find no place to disagree with them, though it was rare that anyone got to speak to a real beast. He spat on the ground at his feet and threaded his way further into the crowd. It was a mistake. The throng began to press around him as more people joined in, all pressing to get to the front and fight their case for entry. Struggling to hold his feet on the slickness of the mud beneath his feet, Dorin resorted to pushing his way back out. Things were beginning to get out of hand. As he neared the edge of the crowd he saw a woman flail to the ground beneath the press of the mob. Dorin bit his cheek in exasperation but pushed in her direction anyway. She was laying face-down in the mud when he reached her, and he slid an arm beneath her pit and hauled her roughly to her feet, using his spare hand to clear a path hastily through the crowd.

When they neared the edge he released her arm and spared her a glance. It was hard to tell with her face so smeared with grime, but she had a young face and dark hair. Her clothes were of fine quality too, and her eyes were clear and intelligent. Hard to figure what she business she had in such a crowd. He fixed her with a curious look.

"Dorin," he introduced himself. "You all right, lady?"

“Sansa! Sansa! Sansa!” Petre called out to the throng of gathered denizens and foreigners alike. Panic struck his chest when she had been drug down into the sea of bodies where his eyes could no longer see her. Sansa was a creature of the small towns and surrounding countries. Petre should have known better than to let her loose in the city, even if for only those few precious seconds.
The man burst through the crowd on horse back, not caring if a few people had been caught beneath his steed’s hooves. Their lives were nothing compared to the life of the one Petre loved with every beat of his heart. The crowd surged at Petre’s behavior, and the man was unhorsed with a scream from the creature. The destrier rolled onto its side then stood once more on all four feet before the horse bolted.
Petre was left standing in an ever more angry crowd.

Feet trampled on Sansa’s back which made her cry out in pain. Her hands came up to cover the back of her head instinctively. There came a harsh tug beneath her arm and Sansa opened her eyes to see she was standing on her own two feet. Mud had caked alongside the fair maid’s face and clung to her auburn hair in dark clumps. The dress which Sansa wore for her travel was now beyond repair and aptly ruined.
Her savior introduced himself, and Sansa lowered her gaze from his face in a modest bow of her head. “Thank you, kindly m’lord,” the timid woman spoke to him in a voice that most likely had not be registered over the yelling, screaming, and wailing of the nearby rioters.
“I—” she began to Dorin.
“Sansa,” a voice called out to her left and Sansa saw that it was Petre. Her eyes lit up and she waited there for him to come to her. In a few, long, strides of the man’s powerful legs, Petre had his hands wrapped around Sansa’s arms.
“Are you alright,” Petre spoke in a gentle voice before noticing the older man in Sansa’s company. Protectively, he drew Sansa in close to him, encompassing the woman in his arms.
“Sansa, who is this man?” Petre was not taking kindly to another man being in the company of his betrothed and it showed in his smoke-colored eyes. Sansa shifted her head and peered at Dorin with her deep brown eyes. Her brow knit together, raised and humbled toward him.