Disclaimer: Don't own. Still. Funny how these things don't change.
A/N: Are you happy I'm writing again?
I was in trouble. Meliara was going to eat me alive. Or set me on fire. Or chop me up into little pieces. Normally she would be incapable of things, thanks to my catlike reflexes, but even those aren't a match for Meliara's fury. Her anger at me during the Candlestick incident would be nothing compared with how she must be feeling now. Certainly she thought I'd betrayed them. I expected her to come marching down the hill any moment, sword in hand, breathing fire and swearing to see me dead or die trying. I admit it was not a particularly pleasant thought. Bran insisted that she wouldn't think that.
"She isn't that judgemental," he said, wincing as he looked up from the small bed where he lay.
I half smiled. "We shall see," I said.
Count Branaric ought to learn something quickly. I am rarely wrong.