The truth is told

Autumn, Year 762 of the New Age
Widow’s Hollow, Blackwood
Featuring: Brynmore and Anya

The roan stag stood shivering outside a den. Sweat slicked his sides, the cold autumn air chilling him as he looked wide eyed into the dark. The passage of time and space was a blur, he only vaguely remembered the guards and fellow herd members he had begged to tell him where he could find Anya, had begged them to stay away from Goronwy’s den. The rest was flying through trees, leaping over rocks and logs, air ripping through his chest and his muscles burning.

Gasping for breath, he tried to slow his breathing down to a normal level. “Is..is this the den of Anya?” he huffed out. He heard shuffling around inside the den, and within the time it took for an elderly doe to appear just within the entrance, his breathing had returned to almost normal.

“Yes, this is my den. I must ask who it is that is calling on me.” Her voice sounded like it had been silky smooth when she was younger, and now with age it had a certain crackle to it. Like lightning.

Brynmore swallowed and bowed his head to her. “I’m Brynmore. A stag, your brother Goronwy, told me that I needed to speak with you,” he hesitated. Should he tell her? That was what he was thinking, but now seeing the old doe, he had second thoughts. *Better to get it out of the way* he thought. “Anya, Goronwy...He is dead. Before he died, he said you would tell me everything.” He looked down from her face to the ground. His heart felt heavy. “I... killed him earlier this evening. He kept screaming and blithering about a debt that I had to pay, that I would be paying it tonight. And, he attacked me. I didn’t want to, but...”

His breathing quickened as he remembered the rage at seeing the red bull, and the sick feeling that had descended as Goronwy returned.

“I know the debt was from saving my life all those years ago. But, why this?” He glimpsed up at the doe, taken aback that she had come closer. Now standing outside of the threshold, he could see her warm, dark brown eyes almost standing stark against her dark face. No white stood out upon her pelt.

He watched her eyes study his face around before he had to look down and away from them. His stomach felt like it was tying itself into knots. He deserved whatever punishment she gave him.

It was a long while before he heard her give a sigh. Peeking up, he twitched his ears toward her. “Brynmore, let us sit while we talk. You look like you’re about to fall to pieces.” Brynmore blinked in surprise as she turned back into her den, whisking her tail so that it hit him on the shoulder.

Ducking his head, he entered her den. He could see vague shapes as his eyes adjusted, though he knew many pelts lined the floor. “Please get comfortable. The wind shouldn’t be bothering you now.” Anya’s dark form was lying on top of a brilliant white pelt, and she covered herself with some more, smaller pelts.

Folding his knees, he rested on something coarse yet warm.  His muscles relaxed as his shivering subsided, and a weariness drenched his mind and body as the day’s events caught up to him.

“I know of you, Brynmore. My brother spoke of you occasionally when you were younger. ‘A fine stag he is growing to be’ he would say, despite the fact that you were and still are a half blood. He never kept his half blood offspring close to him, though I think he was found of you.”

Brynmore narrowed his eyes, a confused look skewing his face. “What do you mean?”

“Brynmore, Goronwy was your sire. I wouldn’t call him a father, even with his pure blooded children, he wasn’t a father. He had a weakness for the skittish and weak Glenmore does.”

Brynmore took a few deep breaths. Goronwy was his, father? Why the distance, why beat around the bush, why the riddles? So many questions. Smothering them away, he thought about the one thing that now made no sense. “If he was my sire, why have me kill him?”

Anya nodded, closing her eyes. Brynmore watched her, feeling that those movements conveyed a sense of wisdom.

“Do you know what witch’s malady is?”

Brynmore shook his head, and Anya gave another sigh.

“It is a horrible disease. I’ve seen it more times than I’d care to admit. Only purebloods have gotten it, and ones who use a lot of magic as they get older. They forget many things, delusions and bad judgment take over. Goronwy was terrified of it, terrified of it happening to him. We had an uncle who suffered from it, and it slowly took his sharp mind and melted it into nothing. He was barely able to speak and make decisions for himself. Goronwy did not want that to happen to him. But alas, The Mother had other plans for him. It had already taken root when he saved your life.” She looked past Brynmore, at the darkness beyond her den. “He wanted to die a warrior. Not as a blithering and blubbering poor old fool.”

Brynmore looked down at his knees, the information swirling around as he thought on it. “But, why me?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Why indeed. I don’t know my brother’s intentions, or why he picked you. Perhaps because you were the one son who lived and didn’t resent him, perhaps because he knew the strength and rage within you was enough to bring him down. Maybe the disease got to him enough to get some sort of sick pleasure out of having his son kill him. I don’t know.”

They sat in silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts as the wind increased outside. An autumn storm would be forming, Brynmore could feel it. Hearing the wind outside made him glad that Anya had invited him in for their talk, and he gave a little shimmy as he thought about going back into the cold, cruel world.

“Brynmore. I know this is strange, but thank you. Goronwy tried to hide his illness from you while you two got to know each other. I saw him during the hard times, and I’m sure he was even worse alone. Thank you for giving him the death he wanted, and not letting him suffer. I only wish he had come to say goodbye to me. But what is, is what must be.”

Brynmore looked at the older doe. She looked far more weary now than when he’d first come here. His own body felt ready for sleep and rest, but he felt strange to sleep here. His muscles protested as he got up. Ducking his head, he gave a nod to the roan doe. “Thank you, Anya, for enlightening me on Goronwy. I’m sorry for the loss of your brother.” He looked outside, dreading the cold wind and the start of rain. “I...must leave now. Stay safe.” Head hunkered down, he stepped out into the cold, wondering where he would find a safe place to stay.