"Black hearted devils?" Brethor clamped his teeth down fiercely on his inner cheek. His thick moustache and his tense shoulders shook. It was a trial in patience, letting the elves speak their piece, or at least in Horad's case, shout it at strangers. The urge to interject was overwhelming, but he clenched his surrendered palms into closed fists.
"Cooperation? Like striking those who have guarded and fed you? Horad we gave you a place to sleep, one off a road that you would have been illprepared to handle. You struck out against merchants, our weapons are little more than ornamentation!" It was infuriating. There had been cooperation between the two groups, and never a problem before this evening. To deny the days and evenings of companionship and camraderie was simply ungrateful.
He took a deep breath, and then another. The knight was speaking again, his voice was terse, and his face already flickered with some silent but reserved judgement. He nodded when addressed, bowing his head lightly. "I... I knew of the letter." Brethor's voice was low as he flickered over to Marianna who was growing paler by the moment. "It was unsolicited. That's not something you cast carelessly aside. In the wrong hands, that letter means our heads." He gestured dismissively at Davin, and the dead boy by the fire. His voice was calm, respectful, and only at the end did he trail of bitterly. "Behold- the wrong hands."
He wearily rubbed his hands over his face, wondering how this all could have gone so wrong. "I had Marianna send word onto Denerim that we wanted nothing to do with it. Something that any reasonable conversation would have revealed. This was madness... just pointless!"
Marianna choked off a sob, a pitiful and harsh noise, forcing Brethor to turn quickly in her direction. Was she injured worse than he thought? "Girl?" She was clutching her fingers at the bleeding hairline, her free hand covering her face.
"I'm sorry." Her voice was quiet. "This was all my fault." She sobbed again, curling up tighter in on herself and Brethor's eyes flew wide, whatever encouragement he had been about to offer dead on his lips.
"Say it or don't, Marianna. But you don't have many options left." His voice was tense, and Brethor belatedly realized he had just turned his back on Davin. He moved closer to the knight, positioning his back toward the road.
"I didn't send your letter." Tears were streaming down her face, and even her voice sounded wet. "It was so much money, Brethor." She gaped openly at Davin. "I didn't know it would end up like this, honest."