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Braided Whisper
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>Who are you?
>Where am I?
"Where am I?"
"Redstone, boy." Anger flashed in Ethain at being called a boy, but he bit it back. "They brought you to me to patch you up, can't have you bleeding to death in the long house. They call me Halla, widow to my face and hag elsewise. I knot veins, mend bones and mix poultices around here. Chief Durin put you here for me to look after, he'll be wanting to see you when you're feeling better."
>Where is my sword?
"Where's my sword?"
"Right here, boy. The guards wouldn't know a Heartree blade by sight and it wasn't my place to say."
>Inform them of the attacks.
"Dunweir's been attacked. The sorcerer Vortigern, he-"
"I know, boy. It's the talk of the town. We saw the fire and smoke."
"I'll have Durin send riders to the other villagers. We must raise an army to drive vortigern out as soon as possible."
"Oh, I don't think you'll want to be telling him what to do."
"I am his prince, he will do as I say!"
"Hah, why would he?"
"Because I am... his prince?"
"What southern foolishness has that mother of yours been feeding you?"
"Do NOT talk like that about Mother!"
"Or what?"
Ethain's eyes glanced at the sword leaning against the bed.
"Well you're certainly a quick one to be waving your weapons about. Listen good, southern prince, around here people choose who they call their king. You may have been the son of the king, but those shoes are mighty big for such little feet. There is no living man who would call you, a bare-faced boy, king."
Ethain sunk into a sullen silence.
"And seeing as you're well enough to sulk, you'll be well enough to meet the chief by evening. There is a feast being prepared."
"For me?"
"No. For Vortigern's emissary."
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