#amanofmyown

The words, growled as they often were, came from behind Hiremwen as she watched Rosie play with the other children. She found it hard to believe that she'd been so young once, but...well. It was a long time ago, after all.

She looked at him now in the half-light, squinting slightly into the shadows of the alley he'd holed himself in, which he looked far too big for – Einar had always been a big lad, thick arms corded with muscle since his 15th nameday. He'll go far, her father had said, while they'd both watched him bring down a deer. That was one of the last times she'd seen her father, before the drink took him.

And come far he had – Einar now led what had been her father's squad, and had done so for the past nine years. Despite her misgivings, he had proved himself well, and she was proud of him, in an odd sort of way. He’d promised her that he’d make something of himself, and he’d more than delivered. That was what she’d liked about him – no matter how much he blustered, Einar got the job done.

But then things had become more complicated – men had always pursued her. She was the Bitch, she was free game. She was the ultimate prize, and she suspected that for Einar, that had been the biggest draw. He prided himself on being able to ensnare even the most challenging of game, and somehow, one night, after copious amounts of alcohol, he’d succeeded. She woke up in his arms, the pair of them naked as their nameday.

He’d been surprisingly gentle, afterwards – not what she’d expected. He was warm and kind, everything her father hadn’t been, and she stayed with him. Once a week became twice, thrice a week. Soon it was every night. They were the talk of the town – two wild spirits settling down at last. One smart fellow even wrote a song about them, before Einar knocked his teeth out. He was handy like that.

Perhaps he’d expected her to marry him; perhaps he’d expected no more than sex. Whatever his expectations, she hadn’t met them. He grew suspicious, angry – wanting to know where she’d been, who she’d been speaking to, how many men there’d been. He was as jealous with his lover as he was with his kills, and one day Hiremwen snapped. She left, without warning, and escaped into the foothills of Fornost. Running away was something she was good at – if she didn’t want to face it, she wouldn’t. End of story.

But sooner or later, she’d had to come back – at first he’d been kind again, clearly relieved she was alright. But then, as time went on, he became jealous once more, and she broke his jaw for it. He hadn’t spoken to her for two months for that, and the hunting had been hard in that time: she hadn’t realised how much he’d been helping her.

But after a time, his wounds healed enough for him to propose a truce. He kept his distance, as did she – but she had less suitors, and easier kills. And when their eyes met in the Prancing Pony, she knew. Why are you doing this? She’d screamed at him, uncomprehending. Because you need me. She’d fallen into his arms and into his bed as quick as anything. But it was different this time – they’d said too much, done too much. She left in the early hours of the morning without a word.

They’d carried on in that pattern for a time, before Hal came, at least. While Einar tied her to Bree, fitting around her neck like a noose, Hal had been…liberating. With Hal came the chance to leave, to explore. Something she’d always wanted.

Something Einar hadn’t understood. He grew more and more discontented, most obviously when he saw her with Hal – but he’d never approached her about anything, waiting for her to come to him instead. Until now.

“What of it? Last I checked, it was a free country.” She raised her chin with no small amount of insolence, before scowling. “Last I checked, I wasn’t your wife.”

“You could have been. You could’ve been milady. But you—“ He stopped, his words choked in his throat as he pounded the wall. She approached him she would a wounded animal, and mutely took his hand, now grazed and bloodstained.

“I could’ve made you happy.” The words came in a mumble, almost too indistinct to be made out, and she took a sharp breath, fighting the retort, How do you know what would make me happy? When have you ever asked?

Instead, she murmured back, “Lots of things could’ve made me happy. It’s too late now.”

“Why?” He demanded, angry again. “Why is it too late? He’s not good enough for you, Rem. You should hear—“

“I know perfectly well what they say about him. But he’s never laid a finger on me to hurt me, unlike someone.” She felt guilty bringing it up – it had been, for the most part, an accident (Einar’s aim went crooked when he was angry)…but her cheek had been a mottled yellow for the best part of a fortnight, and her pride had remained bruised long after that.

“I never wanted to hurt you – I wanted to protect you, care for you, lo—“

“Don’t.” She clapped a hand over his mouth before the word could come out, because once it was said there could be no going back. There were some things that couldn’t be forgotten.

“Why? What can he give you that I can’t? Can he give you a home? Food? Children? I know you love Rosie – how much more would you love your own child? Our child?”

“Einar, that’s not fair…”

“Not fair? You leaving is not fair.”

“Don’t be a child. This isn’t about you.”

“It’ll always be about me. And about you. And about us. We could have been something, you and me. We could have taken Bree by storm, and been happy while we were at it. I want to know why you’d give up on that.”

And she smiled at him, a small, sad smile, before telling him the truth, which still eluded him.

“Because I don’t need you anymore.”