an ancient four-poster bed in its center, a roaring fire in an ancient marble fireplace not far from it. Several attendants stood about the room, and Gwendolyn felt Argon bring her to the bed, laying her down gently on it. As he did, scores of people gathered, looking down at her with concern.
Argon withdrew, took several steps back and disappeared amidst the crowd. She looked for him, blinking several times, but she could no longer find him. He was gone. She felt the absence of his protective energy, which had been enveloping her like a shield. She felt colder, less protected, without him around.
Gwen licked her chapped lips, and a moment later felt her head being propped up from behind, set under a pillow, and a jug of water being put to her lips. She drank and drank, and realized how thirsty she was. She looked up and saw a woman she recognized.
Illepra, the royal healer. Illepra looked down, her soft hazel eyes filled with concern, giving her water, running a warm cloth over her forehead, wiping the hair out of her face. She lay a palm on her forehead, and Gwen felt a healing energy pass through her. She felt her eyes getting heavy, and soon she found them closing against her will.
Gwendolyn did not know how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again. She still felt exhausted, disoriented. In her dreams she had heard a voice, and now she heard it again.
“Gwendolyn,” came the voice. She heard it echo in her mind, and wondered how many times he had called her name.
She looked up and recognized Kendrick, looking down at her. Standing beside him was her brother Godfrey, along with Srog, Brom, Kolk and several others. On her other side stood Steffen. She hated the expressions in their faces. They looked at her as if she were a thing to pity, as if she had returned from the dead.
“My sister,” Kendrick said, smiling. She could hear the concern in his voice. “Tell us what happened.”
Gwen shook her head, too tired to recount everything.
“Andronicus,” she said, her voice hoarse, coming out more like a whisper. She cleared her throat. “I tried… to surrender myself… in return for the city… I trusted him. Stupid….”
She shook her head again and again, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“No, you are noble,” Kendrick corrected, clasping her hand. “You are the most courageous of us all.”
“You did what any great leader would have done,” Godfrey said, stepping forward.
Gwen shook her head.
“He tricked us…” Gwendolyn said, “… and he attacked me. He had McCloud attack me.”
Gwen couldn’t help it: she began to cry as she spoke the words, unable to hold it back. She knew it was not leader-like to do so, but she could not help herself.
Kendrick clasped her hand tighter.
“They were going to kill me…” she said. “… but Steffen saved me…”
The men all looked to Steffen with a new respect, who stood loyally by her side, bowing his head.
“What I did was too little and too late,” he replied humbly. “I was one man against many.”
“Even so, you saved our sister, and for that we shall always be in your debt,” Kendrick said.
Steffen shook his head.
“I owe her a far greater debt,” he responded.
Gwen teared up.
“Argon saved us both,” she concluded.
Kendrick’s face darkened.
“We will avenge you,” he said.
“It is not myself I’m worried about,” she said. “It is the city … our people … Silesia … Andronicus … he will attack.…”
Godfrey patted her hand.
“Don’t you worry about that now,” he said, stepping forward. “Rest. Let us discuss these things. You are safe now, here.”
Gwen felt her eyes closing on her. She didn’t know if she was awake or dreaming.
“She needs to sleep,” Illepra said, stepping forward, protective.
Gwendolyn dimly heard all of this as she felt herself growing heavier and heavier, drifting in and out of consciousness. In her mind flashed images of Thor, and then, of her father. She was having a hard time discerning what was real and what was a dream, and she heard only snippets of the conversation above her head.
“How serious are her wounds?” came a voice, maybe Kendrick’s.
She felt Illepra run her palm across her forehead. And then the last words she heard, before her eyes closed on her, were Illepra’s:
“The wounds to the body are light, my Lord. It is the wounds to her spirit that run deep.”
When Gwen woke again, it was to the sound of a crackling fire. She could not tell how much time had passed. She blinked several times as she looked around the dim room, and saw the crowd had dispersed. The only people who remained were Steffen, sitting in a chair by her bedside, Illepra, who stood over her, applying a salve to her wrist, and just one other person. He was a kind, old man who looked down at her with worry. She almost recognized him, but had a hard time placing it. She felt so tired, too tired, as if she hadn’t slept in years.
“My lady?” the old man said, leaning over. He held something large in both hands, and she looked down and realized it was a leather-bound book.
“It is Aberthol,” he said. “Your old teacher. Can you hear me?”
Gwen swallowed and slowly nodded, opening her eyes just a bit.
“I have been waiting hours to see you,” he said. “I saw you stirring.”
Gwen nodded slowly, remembering, grateful for his presence.
Aberthol leaned over and opened his large book, and she could feel the weight of it on her lap. She heard the crackling of its heavy pages as he flipped them back.
“It is one of the few books that I salvaged,” he said, “before the burning of the House of Scholars. It is the fourth annal of the MacGils. You have read it. Hidden inside are stories of conquest and triumphs and defeats, of course – yet there are also other stories. Stories of great leaders wounded. Of wounds to the body, and wounds of the spirit. All sorts of injuries imaginable, my lady. And this is what I came to tell you: even the best of men and women have suffered the most unimaginable treatment, injuries and torture. You are not alone. You are but a speck in the wheel of time. There are countless others who suffered far worse than you – and many who survived and who went on to become great leaders.
“Do not feel ashamed,” he said, grasping her wrist. “That is what I want to tell you. Never be ashamed. There should be no shame in you – only honor and courage for what you have done. You are as great a leader as the Ring has ever seen. And this does not diminish it in any way.”
Gwen, touched by his words, felt a tear fell roll down her cheek. His words were just what she needed to hear, and she felt so grateful for them. Logically, she knew and understood he was correct.
Yet emotionally, she was still having a hard time feeling it. A part of her could not help but feel as if somehow she had been damaged forever. She knew it was not true, but that was how she felt.
Aberthol smiled, as he held out a smaller book.
“Remember this one?” he asked, turning back its red leather-bound cover. “It was your favorite, all through childhood. The legends of our fathers. There’s a particular story in here I thought I would read to you, to help you idle away the time.”
Gwen was touched by the gesture, but she could take no more. Sadly, she shook her head.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice hoarse, another tear rolling down her cheek. “But I can’t hear it right now.”
His face fell in disappointment, then he nodded,