He looked at the great number of paintings in the corner. He remembered Arngrim's words. If you can't sell it, what's the point?
"Should I...should I try selling my paintings?" he wondered aloud. It was strange, having nobody to talk to.
Nobody's going to buy your paintings.
He shook the voice out of his head. No. He had to try. When Arngrim was alive, he couldn't do anything for himself...that had to change. He couldn't live the rest of his life like this. That is...
What little life you have left.
"Stop it!" he cried out. "Leave me alone! You know nothing about me!" But that was untrue. The voice knew everything about him, because it was him. It was Roland. Roland, the lame brother of Arngrim the mercenary. He'd developed a habit of splitting his mind into two people. They usually held opposite viewpoints. If anyone heard him talking to himself, they would indeed think he was mad. But the only person who was ever around had been Arngrim, or one of his clients...and now that Arngrim was gone, there would be nobody around to hear him.
He stood up slowly and limped over to the table. That silly little headless statue was still there. A symbol of all the people Arngrim had killed. He'd never told Roland exactly why there was no head, but Roland had a feeling Arngrim had done it himself.
Arngrim was always doing violent things. He had no morals.
"That's not true!" Roland protested. "He fought so he could support me!"
He fought because he enjoyed it. He was driven mad by bloodlust. That's what made him kill the princess, the councillor, and 30 men of the guard!
"STOP!" he screamed. He held his hands up to his ears, knowing it was no good. "I don't want to hear any more! My brother was a good man!"
There was a knock on the door.
Roland began to tremble. Had someone heard him? Was somebody coming to kill him? Maybe it was just as well. He had no reason left to live. He knew dying would not have made his brother happy...but now...Arngrim was gone.
Join him, Roland. Join him in Nifleheim.
Trying to ignore the voice in his head, Roland made his way over to the door and opened it.
Standing outside was a young man, younger than Roland himself, with beautiful golden hair and blue eyes.
"You..." Roland began.
The man nodded. "It's me, Lawfer. Arngrim...he wanted me to take care of you."
Roland's face flushed. "I don't need anyone to take care of me." He knew his words were not convincing. Tired...he was so tired...
Sleep. Go to sleep forever. No need to think or do anything. Just...go...to...sleep...
He took a step backward, almost unsure if he was going to be able to stay awake. Then he shook off the feeling and looked back up at Lawfer.
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