Arren pointed the sword at him. “I should kill you,” he said.
Cardock grabbed him by the arm. “Arren, no, don’t. It wasn’t his fault. He came here to tell us what happened. He brought your robe back to us. He said they hadn’t found your body—he came to say sorry to us.”
Bran’s face was blank with terror. “You’re dead,” he whispered. “You’re dead!”
“Get out of here, Bran,” Arren hissed. “Stay away from my parents.”
Bran’s hand went to the hilt of his own sword, but he didn’t draw it. “Arren,” he said, backing away. “There’s—in yer chest. Can’t yeh feel it?”
Arren glanced down and suddenly noticed the broken shaft of an arrow embedded in his body. He grabbed it and pulled it out. The point was sharp and covered with gore; he looked at it blankly and then tossed it aside. Bran moaned softly, and Arren pointed the sword at him again, straight at his face. “Go,” he said again. “Get out of here. You were my friend once; otherwise, I would kill you. Get out and don’t come back. If you tell anyone you saw me, I’ll hunt you down.”
Bran stayed where he was for a moment, trembling, and then he turned and ran out of the house as fast as he could go. Arren heard the door slam behind him. He turned away and put the sword back into his belt. “Mum, Dad, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want any of this to happen. I had to come back and see you before I left.”
They were silent for a time, watching him with something almost like fear, but then Annir embraced him again. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Arren held on to her a little awkwardly. “I’m all right, Mum,” he lied. “Really. I’m fine. See?” He let go of her and pointed at his neck. “I got that collar off.”
Cardock took him by the shoulder. “Arren, you’re bleeding.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” said Arren.
Annir touched him gently. “You should lie down,” she said. “I’ll get some salve.”
Arren allowed himself to be led to their bed, and took off his tunic so that Annir could attend to his wounds. She put ointment on his neck and chest and covered them with bandages, then rolled up his trouser leg and dressed the second arrow wound, in his shin.
“There, does that feel better?”
Arren nodded and sat up. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” he said.
Annir was looking at him, her eyes bright with tears. “I don’t care how you look,” she said. “I’ve got my boy back, and that’s all that matters to me.”
Cardock had been rummaging through a clothes chest and now came over, carrying a fresh pair of black trousers and a tunic. “Here,” he said. “They should fit you. I’ve got another pair of boots out the back you can have.”
Arren took them and laid them aside. “I should have a wash first,” he said. “And”—he scratched his chin—“have you got a razor anywhere?”
Cardock heated some water and poured it into a basin, and Arren stripped off the rest of his clothes, quite unembarrassed, and washed himself from head to toe, rubbing away layers of ingrained dirt. It left him feeling refreshed and strangely relieved, as if he had in some way just begun to reclaim his identity. Once he was clean and had towelled himself off, he put on the clean trousers and picked up Cardock’s razor. “Haven’t shaved in months,” he muttered, and rubbed soap into his beard. Once it was properly lathered, he started to shave it off. He removed the moustache and most of what was on his cheeks and just under his mouth, but he left a thick tuft on his chin. When he was done and had washed what was left, he took a pair of scissors and started to style it, trimming it into a point.
“There,” he said when he was finished. “I’m done. How do I look?”
Cardock smiled at him. “You look like a man now,” he said. “A Northern man.”
Arren shrugged and picked up a comb. His hair was still wet. After months without being trimmed, it had grown almost down to his shoulders and had lost something of its curliness. He trimmed the ends off it with Annir’s help, and then combed and reordered the rest. By the time he was done, he felt neat and clean in a way he hadn’t for a very long time, since Eluna’s