Owen wasn't sure how long he had been gone, though it must have been weeks since the mission had left the castle. Half a dozen knights, brave and determined, and all taken out by a deceptive troupe of rogue bandits. The thought made him ill- that there were men so devious, so uncouth, that they would attack the King's knights on a mission so noble as theirs had been. A cure for the Gray Death would benefit everyone!
Sir Frederick. Sir Victor. Sir Alfred. Sir Gunther. All dead. His friends, his brothers. And worst of all, Sir Domenic. The man without whom Owen wouldn't even be a knight- the man who had taught him more than his own father. More than a brother, a mentor. The leader of their party, who had sacrificed his life to save Owen's.
Why? The question haunted him even stronger than the images of his friends. Why had Domenic done it, taken the fatal blow in Owen's place? Surely Domenic had more to live for, more to offer the knighthood and the King! Owen was a boy, a pup, a fledgling bird in the knighthood- how could he ever even think to fill the void left by his mentor?
The questions would drive him mad, he was sure of it.
Escaping the melee on foot, Owen had collapsed, unconscious from his wounds barely a safe distance away such that the bandits had apparently considered it a waste of time to come kill him as well. He didn't know how long he had been there- but when he woke (his horse gone- damn that horse!), he had made his way toward Greenville. The journey had been a slow one. He had broken ribs, and more untended wounds than he cared to think of- though they had scabbed over by now, they still ached, especially when he stopped walking, stopped concentrating on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other.
He had heard the horse approaching, but didn't think to stop and greet the traveler- most had simply passed him by, and Owen did not see a reason to get his hopes up for this one. When the horse slowed, however, he couldn't help his curiosity- and then his name was spoken. (How long had it been since someone had spoken his name? Domenic had been the last...) He turned toward the traveler, and was taken aback to find that he recognized her as well. Owen bowed lowly, respectfully- even though it hurt. "My Lady Forrester," he said, simply. Oh, this was bad.