Unwanted but not Unloveable

I stand, strong and powerful, on blood cover dirt, in front of the once white, now blood-stained tent. My fathers body moved to another tent somewhere within the camp, while the women who killed him sits tied up in what was once his tent.The woman who murdered my father in cold blood is in this tent, his tent, I thought to myself. The immediate shock of what has happened just hasn’t set in for me, I don’t know why it hasn’t, but it just hasn’t. Looking around at the others, I can tell that they have all been told the truth, or as much as the others wished to make public. Men talking quietly, women mourning, and children crying tears, holding to their mothers hand as if they can save them from themselves and their feelings. Why would she kill him? How could she have killed him? He was the best! I continued my internal blabbering, I mean who doesn’t talk to themselves after their fathers have been murdered by some random person, as I walk, stoned faced, into the tent to face my fathers killer. “Hello, young sir, and who might you be?” She asked, lowering her head in a mockery, her voice soft and sweet but still holding a enough venom to be lethal. I then realised that I’m not the only person who has seen her, obviously, I wasn’t the first to see her. I wasn’t even the one to capture her. She had been in their ‘care’ for three days now, how did it only hit him that others have seen her. I stop mere feet in front of her. “I am Thomas Gillyard, son to William Gillyard and the leader, by blood and birth, of the Border Rievers.” I answered, my voice, strong and unwavering, void of all emotions. But still holding enough power to make a muscle in her jaw flicker, the only hint of surprise she’ll show. She recollected herself and said, “Ah, you are his son. Well hello,” she bowed her head mockingly, “my name is Alice Marion, daughter to Rachel Marion, leader, by right, of The Ravens.” She said, her voice mimicking mine, void of all emotions but also holding power even though she is tied up to the chair and not me. The Ravens, I have heard of them, everyone has heard of them, they are second to us. Though they are small in numbers and younger in age, they are powerful. The once broke into King’s palace and stole Princess Mary’s crown, whoever this women is, she knows what she is doing. “Let’s get right down to it then. No games, no tip toeing around the truth, no bullshit. Why did you,” I say waving a hand in her general direction, “kill my father?” She sighed, one of annoyance, “Can you and your men not find something else to ask me. It’s always the same question anytime one of you,” she sneers in my direction, “ asking the same questions. So I will give you the same answer I gave them, you simply cannot handle the truth.” She said, her voice taking a annoyed tone, as if I have not killed many, as if I have not built a reputation of my own, as if I am above torturing her for the answers. Well I’ll show her. “You don’t know what I can handle,” I spit at her. I’m losing my slip on the calm and cold mask, my voice gaining emotion. She smiles at the reaction she has brought out in me. I take a deep breath and start again, “I can handle the truth, for without the truth I have questions that I cannot answer.” My voice once again void of emotions, I just hope my face and eyes are the same. “Believe me, Thomas, I do not tell you because you think you can handle this, trust me when I say that I believe this specific truth would break your very self.” Her voice never wavering, always the same, the only thing that changes is her smile, it gets meaner, eviler, powerful. “My…. I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. Do you really believe, that you” I sneer, “could break my very self.” Okay so her group is good, but this women gives herself to much credit. “Yes, Thomas, I do believe that in my cold, cold heart.” She smiles a little, to me or herself I have no clue. “Tell me either way, you killed my father but yet you deny me the right to know why,” I say, f**k the whole, calm and cold, I let the anger show and I hope it scares her to tell me the truth as it has done countless others. She sighs, this time one out of exhaustion. Her face shifts and I can see the exhaustion and sorrow in her eyes, they reflect her heart I realised with a small jolt of shock. “If you really want to know the truth,” her voice once again soft but not sweet, no, it’s almost sad, her smile drops. When so does not continue I say, “I wish to know the truth,” my own voice turning soft and calm to mimic hers. “I didn’t just kill your father, he was also,” she takes a deep breath in, out, then says quietly but not weakly, “he was also my father.” Every thought emptied out of my head at that. Holy f*****g s**t. What the hell am I going to do now.