Kells whistled cheerfully to himself, rocking back and forth on his boots, his thumbs stuck in the loop of his belt, as he made a great show of examining the wall carvings in the Great Hall of Dun Cairn. They certainly were well-made, though what he was looking at made little sense to him - it looked like a group of ancient Crosscraw pulling apart a giant in a massive suit of armor, ripping its arms and legs off with their bare hands. But as he put a hand to his chin, scratching, as if pondering what he was seeing, he watched out of the corner of his eye. Observing the Crosscraw.

In the days since Martim's fight with Torc, there had been an uproar amongst them. The lowlanders, it seemed, were all they could talk about. And while many of the Crosscraw women were of the opinion that what the wizard had done was only right - the Crosscraw did not hold childkillers in high regard - many others were less enthused. It did not help that this was likely the most unusual thing to happen in Dun Cairn, during the years they had been holed up here. While many of the Crosscraw still lay about in a stupor, the more lively ones had been breaking out into arguments. Even as he watched, one woman, an older one, leapt up from her place about the fire pits to shove a younger Crosscraw, shouting something about siding with the lowlanders. The younger woman responded with a quick jab that left her opponent's nose bleeding, before they were pulled apart.

Such violence was not usual, but it was hardly the first fight he had seen. And while he was up here, some of the Crosscraw women gave him glares that made his skin crawl. Though, to be fair, others approached him to furtively whisper that they did not care what the others thought , they would have his back. Which was part of why he was up here. It would have been easy - safer, even - to just hole up in Grizel's chambers, away from the rest of the Crosscraw, while Martim healed. But Kells had a little knowledge of how people in tense situations worked, from his time as town guard of Twin Lamps. Sometimes it was best to hole up, sure. But sometimes, it was better to show your face. Show people that you weren't afraid. Folk had a funny way of thinking that fear indicated guilt and wrongdoing. Kells could have seen, all too easily, the Crosscraw growing more and more suspicious and angry amongst themselves, if all the lowlanders had simply locked themselves away. If all it cost to prevent that was a few dark glares thrown his way, it was worth it. Though it did feel better that he had his steel breastplate on.

And besides, it felt good to do something to help Martim out. The poor man was clearly having a rough time of it. From his time in the Dream, Kells had some idea of the slaughter that had been visited on Martim's village. And to be here, among constant reminders of it...the wizard had been behaving oddly, before the fight, and though Elyse seemed to think that something stranger was going on, Kells had a much simpler explanation. Martimeos was simply beginning to crack. You couldn't expect a man to face up to someone who had killed his friends and family and remain completely sane. Kells thought he had felt something similar, when they had faced down the bogge-man that had killed Roark. A kind of frantic mania, a sort of righteous bloodthirstiness. Yes, he thought he understood what Martim had felt quite well.

As much as he understood, though, it had left them in an awkward spot. Another reason he felt the need to be up in the Great Hall of Dun Cairn, not just to show the Crosscraw he was not afraid, was to keep an eye out for Torc. Martimeos had given the man a brutal thrashing - and Kells could not help but feel a little proud, perhaps, of that, thinking that maybe his sparring with the wizard had helped. But having left Torc alive, it was not out of the question that the Crosscraw man might seek revenge. Kells didn't know how, with only one arm and no hands, and beaten to bloody ruin, but he wouldn't put anything past a childkiller. But if any of the Crosscraw that still remained friendly knew where Torc was, they weren't telling. In truth, Kells was a little perplexed that Martim had not simply killed the man. He wouldn't judge, though. No matter Torc's crimes, it would have been a grim thing to kill him in front of his pregnant wife. Not to mention Aela.

Poor Aela. Kells had watched the woman's heart break, right there in the sands of the arena, when she heard of her brother's crimes. The last he had seen of her, she was being dragged from the sands by two of the Crosscraw, face stained with tears, hanging limp and listless in their arms, staring with blank shock at her brother even as she was pulled away. He had felt sorry for her; he could not imagine what it must have been like to hear that. He tried to imagine what it would be like if someone had told him Roark had murdered children, and he simply could not conceive of it. She, at least, was around here somewhere - he had heard Crosscraw women saying they were going to bring her food - but he did not know where.

As he pondered, he became aware of the sounds of footsteps approaching him. Slow footsteps, as if whoever it was was trying to sneak up on him. Someone who approached him outside of his line of sight. Calmly, he placed a hand on the hilt of the mace he wore by his side, thumb ready on the loop. "Hello, there," he said, without turning around, before the sound of the footsteps came within striking distance of him.

The footsteps paused, and then there came a dry, raspy chuckle. "Yer sharp, laddie. But ye dinnae need tae worry so. Ye lowlanders may nae be welcome by many at th' moment, but yer guests bah mah word. Tis death tae attack ye."

Kells turned to find Maol-Manos standing behind him. The Chief of the Crosscraw was oddly alone, tugging at his voluminous white beard, eyes, though cloudy, still peering keenly. "Chief," Kells acknowledged, stopping himself from bowing, and instead offering a simple nod. "Who says I'm worried?"

Maol-Manos snorted, waving an idle hand, his white silks drifting gently as he did so. "Dinnae pretend wit' me. Ah've bin watchin' ye. Ye look like a lion ready tae pounce."

Kells was about to protest this, when he realized he still held his hand on his mace even now, and his every muscle was still set on edge so much that his arms trembled slightly. He looked around. There were no other Crosscraw nearby. They sat instead gathered around the fire pits in the Great Hall, though a few did look in his direction curiously, frowning when they saw him speaking with the Chief. Letting out a breath, Kells relaxed. "Well, I think you could hardly blame me."

"Hm." Maol-Manos gave him a shrewd look, the old Chief's scarred face a little gruesome in the torchlight. Kells felt as if he was being appraised. "C'mon, Queensman. Take a walk wit' me."

Kells didn't budge. He crossed his arms, and gave Maol-Manos an appraising look of his own, gray eyes weighing the chief silently. "Why?"

Maol-Manos gave him a surprised look, and then laughed, a hacking, wheezing chortle. "When Ah told ye Ah was nae lowlander King, ye really took tha' tae heart, et seems," he rasped, wiping a tear from the wrinkled corner of one misty eye. "Jest c'mon, Queensman. Ah dinnae hae plans tae do ye harm. Ah only get so much time on mah own each day tae stretch these auld bones." Without waiting for an answer, Maol-Manos turned around and began walking away, white silk robes dragging along the stone floor as he went.

Kells paused for a moment, considering, and then with a shrug he followed. It did not take long for him to catch up with the Crosscraw Chief's shuffling gate. Maol-Manos glanced at him as he fell alongside, and then nodded sagely. "Ye know, laddie," he said, after a few moments of silence, "Ah've bin watchin' ye close, since ye bin here. Ah think yer tellin' th' truth, about ne'er havin served th' White Queen. Ye hae the looks o' a Queensman, aye. But ye ent got th' manner."

"The manner? What do you mean by that?"

Maol-Manos did not answer right away. He took a turn down a hallway that led off from the Great Hall, a long, dark tunnel carved into the rock of the mountain, lit only by the occasional torch, their dancing orange light illuminating the long-forgotten glories of the Crosscraw carved into the walls. Kells hesitated for a moment. He did not know where Maol-Manos was leading him, and he felt a bit uncomfortable being alone with the Chief. He was not threatened by Maol-Manos himself - though the Chief had clearly once been a fearsome warrior, he was old now, and Kells was certain he could best the man if the need arose. But perhaps he was being led into an ambush, where he might be killed quietly. In the end, though, he followed. He did not think the Chief was that sort of man.

As he fell in step with Maol-Manos again, the Chief continued. "Aye. Th' manner. When Ah was young - afore th' time o' th' White Queen - mah clan, an a few others, we came down from th' mountains tae raid. Tha' was when Ah learned mahself jest how hard ye Queensmen can be. Torc - curst be his name-" here, Maol-Manos paused to spit - "He was right about tha'. Many o' us Crosscraw fancy ourselves hard as stone, compared tae lowlanders. But et ent so."

Kells opened his mouth to speak, and then thought carefully about what to say. There were some things he hadn't told the Chief - like that he had grown up in the Court of the White Queen - that he had best be careful not to inadvertently reveal. "I had always heard that the Crosscraw were fearsome warriors, though. Lowlanders do fear you. They seem to think that you outdo them, in some way."

Maol-Manos was quiet for some time. Kells risked a glance towards the Chief. The man's scarred face bore a grim look, the shadows cast by the firelight dancing across his deep scars in strange patterns. "Fer us Crosscraw," he said quietly, "Battle es...a matter o' honor. Fer most o' us. We pride ourselves en standin' toe tae toe wit' a foe. An' when Ah was young, Ah thought that since we enjoyed et so much, et meant we were th' best at et. 'Til Ah fought th' Queensmen. Fer us, battle may be done fer honor. But fer yer folk, ye ken, killin' es cold. Smart, an' cold."

Kells absorbed this in silence. When he did not answer, Maol-Manos continued. "Th' first few raids, they went well enough. But Ah will always remember th' villagers eyes, when we came in. Those gray eyes, ye Queensmen got. Watchin' us pluck th' loot. Nae curses, nae jeers. Nae anythin', but ye could feel et en yer bones, somethin' growin colder and colder an' harder an' harder behind their eyes. We dinnae fight an' kill unless people fight back, ye ken. Folk can choose tae surrender, an' then we jest take our pick o' loot from th' place."

Kells snorted. "Oh, is that it," he said, giving Maol-Manos a frank look when the old man glanced towards him. "Food stores aren't exactly a small thing to farmfolk, you know."

"We ne'er took so much tha' they would starve," Maol-Manos retorted. "Mebbe hae a lean winter. Bah, ye willnae make me feel shame fer et. They could hae chose tae stand an' fight. Well, they...they did, eventually." The Chief's voice grew quiet, and he stared forth into the darkness of the hallway as he continued. "We got...arrogant. Thought ye Queensmen were free pickin'. An' then one village, we send our scouts out tae see th' defenses, an' they dinnae return. So we send more out tae find them, and they dinnae return. So we move all our men tae th' top o' a hill, above th' village we were s'posed tae attack. Cannae see anythin' really. Too much forest and trees around. But we figger, mebbe th' villagers got smart an' captured our scouts, so we best go in an' rescue 'em. Our scouts got captured, sure, but we didnae expect much en th' way o' trouble." He sighed. "As Ah said. We got arrogant.

"We creep forward through th' trees - mebbe a hundred men, all o' us. An' we're in sight o' th' village, close enough tae throw a stone at th' houses outlyin' et. When Ah hear a shout go up. Someone had found th' scouts, hangin' from th' trees, dead. An' next Ah knew, th' leaves beneath mah feet are whippin' up. They hid ropes an' nets beneath em, ye ken. Men all about me fallin' an' gettin tangled. An' that's when th' arrows started pourin' down on us. Shootin' us from th' upper floors o' their houses, they were. An' then a fire starts. Afore Ah know et, everyone aroun' me es dead, an Ah run, those who can run, tae make et out an' regroup."

"I don't see anything wrong with that," Kells replied. He looked back behind himself, back at the Great Hall of Dun Cairn. They were now quite far down this lonesome, dark hallway. "What, did you only want them to fight you hand to hand, where you were likely to win?"

Maol-Manos gave him a condescending look. "Ah ne'er said tha'," the Chief grumbled. "But ye lemme finish. We make et out o' there, but lost mebbe a third o' our men, and got nearly as many injured. Lickin' our wounded pride, we retreat, an' set up camp. We figger that prob'ly some o' our men were captured, nae kilt. Some men want tae go back an' attack, tae rescue 'em, but others want tae try tae negotiate fer their release - village were too well-prepared, ye ken. Didnae want tae get caught en any more o' their traps. Well, th' villagers must hae spotted us makin' camp nae too far off, an' they didnae like that one bit. Because come nightfall, as we're gettin' ready tae bed down, th' screams started."

Maol-Manos shuddered, and Kells could not help but notice that even though the memory was an old one, the Chief had gone pale. "Screams, from th' woods. Our captured men, screamin' en pain, screamin fer us tae leave, screamin that....whatever et was tha' was bein done tae them, et wouldnae stop until we did. Some men, they go runnin intae th' woods, hearin' a friend's voice en dyin' pain. Ne'er seen 'em agin. Screams from all over, en th' dark, an we hae nae idea what tae do. So en th' end, we run. En th' only direction th' screams ent comin' from. We run until daylight an' our feet bleed, an we dare nae even try tae go back fer th' bodies. All told, lost nearly half our men, and all our will tae fight. All from one village, where we didnae manage tae kill a single soul en return."

Kells absorbed this in silence, the only sound that of their footsteps echoing through the hallway. "Why tell me this?" he asked, after a moment.

Maol-Manos gave a shrug, running a withered hand through his long white beard. "Et were on mah mind, since Ah saw Torc fight, Ah suppose. Ye see, years later, when th' White Queen took hol' in the land, Ah thought tae mahself - any who could make herself Queen o' such a cold people were like tae be colder than ice herself. An' when she came tae us - her an' Reinhast One-Eye - Ah could tell th' pair o' them, they had frozen hearts. Ah didnae like th' idea o' our menfolk goin' tae serve her en th' war. But she promised plunder, an' Ah had nae authority tae stop et. An' when Ah heard tale o' th' cruelty done en her name, Ah always wondered - were et th' White Queen? Or were et somethin' cold en th' hearts o' th' Queensmen themselves? But et didnae occur tae me tha' some o' our own folk might hae tha' same coldness en em."

Kells could not help but think of his father, in the shining armor of the Knights of the Queen, long, fluttering snow-white cloak flapping in the breeze. His father, who had always been fair to him, with kind smiles. Who had always said he fought because he thought folk would be better off under the White Queen's rule. And he could not help but wonder what it was his father had done during the war. It was something he had considered before, ever since hearing tale of the cruelty of the White Queen's forces, after she had fallen. Would his father have done what Torc had done? "That seems....naive, of you," he said softly. "You honestly thought your own folk would never fall so far?"

"Nae," Maol-Manos replied wearily, "Ah honestly didnae. Ah thought a life o' honor upon th' mountain would save 'em from th' temptations o' bloodlust an' cruelty. Ah thought th' Queensmen might hae done such, but nae us. That th' Queensmen had somethin' cold en em tha' came out when pushed. But here ye are, a Queensman who's done us nawt but kindness. An' as et turns out, one o' our own was a childkiller. One more bit o' wisdom tae add tae th' pile, Ah suppose. It doesnae matter who ye are, coldness es a choice ye make." He sighed, sounding somehow even older than he was. "Well, here we are."

Maol-Manos had stopped before a large doorway that yawned open into utter darkness, the flickering light from a torch set into the wall next to it barely strong enough to illuminate more than a few feet into the room. Kells frowned at the old man, furrowing his brow. "What's this?" he asked, suddenly wondering whether he should be wary. His hand strayed towards the mace looped around his belt.

But Maol-Manos merely shook his head, and then grabbed the torch from the wall, lifting it high so that its light could penetrate further into the room, and Kells' eyes widened at what he saw.

In the corner of the room sat Aela, on the bare stone floor, knees drawn up to her chest, and her face buried in them. Her long red hair was matted and dull, tangled in knots, falling limply over her shoulders to pool on the floor. The furs she wore looked dirty. Beside her, on the stone floor, was a bowl of water, and an untouched crust of bread.

"She hasnae spoken tae anyone since th' fight," Maol-Manos murmured softly, looking sadly at her. "Nae eaten a bite. Ef she's even moved from this spot, Ah havnae seen et. Ah was hopin' ye'd speak tae her."

"Me...?" Kells asked, astonished, running a hand through his short dark hair. "Why me...? I'm not sure what you expect me to say."

To his further surprise, Maol-Manos wiped a tear from the corner of his cloudy eyes, and the Chief's voice trembled as he spoke on. "Et pains me tae see her like this," he murmured. "Too many o' our folk...they decide tae take their own lives, these days. An' so many others hae fallen tae despair. But Aela were always there wit' a smile an' a laugh for 'em, though she had lost as much as they. But she ent gonna last much longer like this."

"But what could I possibly do?" Kells protested. He felt a strange uneasiness, in the pit of his stomach. Just seeing Aela, alone in the dark, in the corner of that bare and cold room, set him on edge. He could not stop the macabre thought that she almost looked like a corpse in storage already.

"Ah dinnae mean tae put th' burden on ye," Maol-Manos replied. "Ah'm jest....she willnae talk tae her own folk. She willnae talk tae me. Ah ken she likes ye lowlanders. Ah'm tryin everythin', ye ken? Anythin' at all. Dinnae feel badly ef et doesnae work, but jest...please. Try tae talk tae her."

Kells stared at the Chief. Maol-Manos simply looked back, a tired, scarred old warrior draped in white silk, his expression one of honest pain. He looked thankful when Kells sighed, took the torch, and stepped into the room.

He lifted the torch up high, glancing around as he approached Aela, looking back in mild surprise when he found that Maol-Manos was not following him in. This room, like many others, bore carvings on its walls, but these here were particularly grim. They seemed to depict some sort of awful battle against a locust-headed foe; a great deal of the carvings were that of skulls in burning flames. He hoped that Aela hadn't chosen this room for a reason.

She did not move as he approached her; did not even look up. If it were not for the rise and fall of her shoulders with her breath, Kells would have thought she was dead. He paused for a moment as he stood over her, looking back to Maol-Manos for guidance, but the Crosscraw Chief had vanished from the doorway, leaving the two of them alone. Kells sighed, and tapped on his breastplate anxiously, a small drumming rhythm with his fingers. "Aela?" he called, softly. She did not answer, so he went on, "Aela, it's Kells. The lowlander."

She still remained silent, completely still. Kells frowned, and nudged her with his boot. There was no reaction to this, either. "C'mon, now, you should eat," he said half-heartedly, feeling a bit awkward. Burning hells, what was he supposed to say to this woman? What could one say to someone who found out their brother was a monster? He had seen people shocked to the core, before - he could remember one incident in Twin Lamps, where a merchant driving her wagon had accidentally overturned it and crushed one of her guards to death; she had simply sat in the street and stared, unblinking, at the growing puddle of blood beneath her overturned cart. But this seemed so much worse.

Finally, he became frustrated. "You know, it wasn't easy lugging your hide up the mountain. Might have spared the effort if I had known you were just going to starve yourself to death not long after." To his surprise, Aela gave a slight stir at that. Maybe that was what she needed, he thought. A little stab to the conscience. "And I don't suppose I'll be getting my pumpkin seeds, either," he added.

Aela lifted her head from her knees just enough so that her bright green eyes showed beneath the tangled mop of her hair. They were red-rimmed and tear-stained, and barely seemed able to focus on him. "Ah....Ah'll still get 'em," she said, her voice a pained rasp. "Ah tol' ye Ah would...an' Ah will."

"Somehow I doubt that," he replied idly, trying his best to keep his tone casual. "Can you even stand, in the state you're in? I suspect not." He bent to pick up the stone bowl of water that sat beside her, its contents sloshing and dripping on the floor as he held it out to her. "Come on. Drink something, at least."

Aela blinked at him. She reached out slowly, arms trembling, and grasped the bowl with fingers that seemed stiff and cramped, raising it to dry, cracked lips to sip at it. She had only drank half the bowl when it dropped from her unsteady hands, falling to the stone floor with a clatter, the water splashing to soak into her furs. She just stared at this.

"And now some bread," Kells said, plucking up the crust to hold it out to her. "C'mon, a few bites-"

"Why d'ye do this?" Aela whispered softly, still staring at the bowl that had fallen to the floor. "How can ye bear tae be en mah presence...?"

"I mean, you may not have bathed in a while, but you don't smell that bad," Kells replied light-heartedly.

But Aela did not respond to the jest. She continued looking at the floor, her arms limp by her sides, watching the water slowly spread across it. "Mah blood es rotten," she murmured. "Ah'm rotten. Mah brother is a killer so vile tha' Auld Scratch hisself will drag him tae th' hells when he goes."

Kells drew back his hand offering the crust, his stormy gray eyes growing soft as he looked at her. "That's not right," he said quietly, "Your brother is a killer. Not you."

"His blood runs in me!" Aela cried, suddenly forceful, her voice echoing off the walls. Finally, she looked up at Kells, and she seemed almost frantic. "His shame es in me! An' Ah dared - Ah dared - tae beg fer mercy fer him! Oh..." She put her face in her hands, and her breathing grew rapid and shallow. "Ah loved him so much. Ah still love him. An' he kens et."

Something about the way Aela said that made Kells uneasy. He looked down at the Crosscraw woman, waiting until her breathing slowed and she calmed a bit. "Who do you mean?" he asked softly. "Torc? Do you know where he is?"

"Nae," Aela responded, her face still hidden. "Th' Bogge-King. He comes tae me. En th' dark."

Kells felt his blood run cold. He swung his torch around, lifting it high to drive the deep shadows out of the corners of the room. He could not help but remember how the bogge-man had appeared in Roark's house, the night his captain had been killed. Simply sitting in a dark corner. Staring. He felt a fear in his gut that he might lift the torch to find an auroch's skull there, floating in the darkness.

"He comes tae me," Aela continued, her voice a whisper, "An' he tells me...this es why we deserve tae die. We're murderers, an' poison, an' Ancestors damn me, Ah think he's right. Mah brother es a killer o' children, an' mah folk wantae excuse him for et. He es a monster, an Ah still love him. What es wrong wit' us? Wit' me?"

Still keeping a wary eye on the shadows that danced at the edge of the torchlight, Kells turned back to Aela. He frowned, considering her. From what he understood - though he knew little of such things - Grizel's Art should be keeping the Bogge-King at bay. Perhaps Aela's mind was simply playing tricks on her. Or perhaps there was some stain left in her, from the Bogge-King's touch. He did not think that if the Bogge-King had actually been inside Dun Cairn, he would have left Aela alive. Or any of the Crosscraw, for that matter. "You should not say that. You and your folk do not deserve to suffer for what your brother has done."

But Aela was shaking her head; burying her face in her knees once more, her whole body trembled as she spoke. "Ye are a lowlander, an' ye dinnae ken. Ah hae so much shame an' dishonor, an' nowhere tae put et. Ah owe Martim a blood debt Ah can never repay, fer how could Ah? Ah cannae go near him, Ah must make him sick. Nae wonder Ah felt such guilt lookin' at him. The wrong was so great that even before Ah learned of Torc's crimes, mah blood knew. Mayhap Ah should jest let him kill me. Tha' might settle th' debt."

"Enough!" Kells snapped. He could not help it. As Aela spoke, it was almost as if he could see some shadow wrapping itself tighter and tighter around her thoughts. More gently, he continued, "The wizard may be an odd one, but he will not want to kill you. Nor do I think he would be so dismayed at the sight of you as you believe. If you feel you owe him something, then take it up with him. Just do not sit alone here in the dark any longer."

Aela was quiet for a long time in response to this. And then once more, she curled up into a ball, leaning against the corner of the room, almost as if she was trying to shrink away into it. "Go away," she whispered miserably. "Jest go. Ah cannae take any more."

And with that, she refused to respond any further. Kells called her name a few more times, and nudged her again with his boot, but she remained as still as the stone on which she sat. Finally, with a sigh, and a rueful shake of his head, he left her there, alone in the dark once more.

Out in the hall, he found Maol-Manos some distance from the doorway. The Crosscraw Chief was examining some of the wall carvings that lined the hallway, frowning at them, as if he found them just as alien as any of the lowlanders did. For all Kells knew, he did. None of the Crosscraw seemed to have memories that went far back enough to include the creation of Dun Cairn. The old man turned as he approached, giving Kells a grateful smile. "Ah heard her voice," he said, "Though I didnae wantae enter th' room mahself. Afeart she may hae kept her gob shut ef she saw me."

"She drank, but would not eat," Kells shrugged, handing the torch he carried to Maol-Manos, who set it back in its place in the wall. "She..." And then, he paused. He remembered what he had been told, about the Crosscraw, and what they did to those they thought marked by the bogge-men. "She feels guilty for her brother's crimes," was all he said.

Maol-Manos paused, staring at the wall, upon hearing this, his hand lingering by the torch. "Et's th' Crosscraw way," he sighed. "She's a Ghostfoot, an' they were one o' our auldest clans. Real hung up on th' auld ways. Ah suppose Ah should be tellin' her she's right tae feel tha' way, as Chief. But Ah dinnae put much faith en our auld ways mahself. Nae any longer."

"I would have thought that was your job, as Chief," Kells replied, and then regretted it.

It was an idle comment, made almost in jest, but Maol-Manos was not in the spirit for jests, it seemed. The Chief's mood had darkened. For the first time, Kells saw a shadow of the despair that had taken root in so many Crosscraw in the old warrior's face. "Look around ye, Queensman," Maol-Manos said darkly. "Look at where ye are. See where our auld ways hae bought us. An' what worth are they, anyway, ef they kill a girl fer what her brother did?" When Kells did not answer, Maol-Manos sighed, and looked sadly at the dark doorway into the room where Aela dwelt. "Ah'll hae some fold come by tae give her more water an' fresh food," he said quietly. "Ah thank ye fer tryin. At least she spoke tae ye."

And with that, the Chief turned, without waiting, and walked away, much more slowly than he had on the way here, as if the age he bore had settled into his bones.

Kells gave one last, regretful look into the darkness in which Aela sat. Though he knew it was foolish, he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty that he had not been able to do more. With a sigh, he followed after Maol-Manos.