"What are you doing here, lad?"Įrik's grin lit up his face. When his eyes fell on Erik, they widened. "Lady Dragonborn, welcome," Wilhelm clasped his hands together, taking in my travelling companions. I did spy Wilhelm bustling toward us though, and raised a hand in greeting. All I had to do was wait, and my sister would surely hear I'd arrived, and find me. Chances were they kept to their room when the inn was this busy. I glanced around hastily too, and determined not to panic as I failed to find the Nords my sister and Etienne were disguised as. "This is more like it," Idolaf said in a pleased tone, eyes roving the room. Somewhere behind us, the bard was singing in her soft, sweet voice, with finger-picked lute accompanying her. The hearth's roar provided a rumbling undercurrent, and all of the horn lanterns were lit, bathing patrons and pub in a pleasant yellow glow.
A wall of blessed warmth rolled over me like a soft wool blanket, and we began to shed outer layers. "You ask a lot of questions."Įrik's response was lost to the noise of the tap room.Īs with my last visit, most of the tables were occupied, but then I supposed it was suppertime. Saadia narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, trained on Erik. Idolaf groaned in defeat and pushed open the door. Is it a spiritual thing in your culture? Why fourteen? Is it like a birthday tradition?" "Well, it grew back really nicely, all silky and -" Erik faltered, clearing his throat, oblivious to Idolaf's glare. "Are we really doing this, out here?" Idolaf grated, hand still on the door knob. "Wow," Jervar's eyes widened and shot to her hood-covered head. "Where I am from all men and women of class shave their hair when they turn fourteen." "Hairlessness is no mark of agedness," Saadia pointed out flatly. He hasn't got any hair, so maybe, I dunno. "Dad says Wilhelm's in love with his bard, Lynly, but he thinks he's too old for her." "Anything else we should know?" he drawled, unimpressed. Idolaf, fingers wrapped around the handle, turned to stare at the young man. "Oh - you don't need to worry about Wilhelm's patrons," Erik piped up. "Let us see what we're dealing with here." "Enough chatter," Idolaf murmured, reaching for the door. Saadia blinked at him once, then turned away. "I mean, you're probably right?" Erik sent the young woman a glowing smile. Marinated correctly, cabbage is delicious." "Then you haven't had it properly prepared. "Oh, sure," Erik flushed, half-smiling to the deck as out boots beat uneven rhythms across it. "Is there nothing in this world that vexes you, Erik?" Saadia sighed as she shivered, tugging her cloak close around her neck. "C'mon you lot, the ride wasn't so bad," Erik encouraged, flickering me a worried glance. Jervar flushed, ducking his head to hide a wide grin, murmuring something that nobody heard.
"I'm sure we can arrange something, little brother." "His mother isn't here," Jon inspected the teenager as we made our way to the entrance. "Tilma knows your mother," Idolaf pointed out, droll. "Tilma never lets me drink anything interesting in the mead hall." "You think…I could have an ale?" Jervar asked quietly, hopefully. "No, a bath," Saadia sighed, rubbing her shoulder and tilting her head to stretch her neck. "Our kingdom for an ale, hey?" Idolaf threw an arm around the smaller man's shoulders and jostled him fondly. "Gods, I haven't wanted to lie down so much in my life," Jon moaned, strapping his lute about him listlessly. Ordinarily I would welcome the beauty of fresh powder, but inwardly I grimaced, for it would only make the climb more perilous tomorrow. The air was dry and cold, and somehow heavier, all precursors of snow. Low clouds closed in, making the world feel smaller for lack of sky, and the sun had set by the time we stabled our horses behind the Vilemyr Inn.
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