Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Inn
“I am telling ye’ Barth, war is coming! I can feel it in me bones!”
“Oh, pipe down will ya’. Ye’ reckon war been comin’ for years now.”
Barth heard the creak of the inn’s front door. No doubt another traveler seeking shelter from the pouring rain. As he looked from his cup of ale towards the sound. His eyes rounded past the weathered and aged oak that made the inn’s walls. Landing on the potential patron.
The man wore wet and weathered cloth over his shoulders. Green, with a chain doublet on the cusp of rusting going from neck to mid-thigh. Muddied riding leathers coupled with earthy brown boots sloshed across the creaking floorboards. As the blade, hung by the belt on his hip, swayed with the outside wind.
“Well met, I’ll be with ye in but a moment. Just let me finish with this half-wit.”
“H-Half-wit?! Ye’ dare!”
“Aye, I dare. Ye’ old bastard. Now pipe down a wee moment”
“Last time I offer me coin…” the words came out like the whine of dogs. Barth would care if it was the first of Cyd’s grumbling.
He put down the ale cup and rounded the oak counter to face the stranger.
“Forgive the wait, lad. Now then, ‘tis the matter of coin?”
The stranger looked at Barth with blue eyes. Colored like the night sky, filled with stars that promised plenty of tales. His hair, just shy of black, was chopped short of his chin and swept to one side, threatening to blind one of the eyes. A mid length beard sat atop a strong jaw and a moustache of the same color connected and met just below a straight nose.
Barth would think the man a noble, maybe some offshoot from the Rootes, if his cloth weren’t so marred.
mayhap’ a bastard then.
“I canst recompense.”
His voice was like rocks rolling in the palms. As deep as any man full-grown, with life lived and family awaiting.
“Right glad ye come upon us, th’ land be fit for raiding on nights such as this.”
“Its war I’m tellin’ ya’! War!”
Barth whipped his wrinkled head “Pipe down! The King’s peace ‘snot so easily broken. ‘Specially not for lousy bandits a gatherin’.”
He turned to the stranger with a sigh, “A proper fool, yet he and I did battle in the rebellion, side by side. see my meanin’?”
Not a word in response. His grim and stoney visage fits with them frozen northerners he’s heard of.
“Well, I be needin' a groat fer th’ meal an' ale, an' a star fer th’ room.”
The man uncoupled a leather sack from his belt. As mucked and stained as the rest of him. But the chime of the coin let Barth push that to the side. The man reached in and produced two coins.
Which were all wrong.
The coins in question were thin disks of yellow. As the man grabbed hold of them, Barth noted glowing ripples rolling towards the center. When they reached his palm, they held almost no weight at all.
“Th’ blast is this now?”
“Recompense.”
“Nay. This ain’t me pay. Yer ain’t got a copper or two?”
“No.”
“Have anythin’ to barter? What about that there steel 'pon yer’ belt?
“No.”
“Well, ya’ must have somethin! I shan't be feedin ya’ out of me’ good heart.!”
“He surely won’t”
“One more! One more ye old knave and I’ll send ye to face them bandits o' yours.!”
Barth turned to the stranger, “Anyhow, I ain’t takin these. Ya ain’t barter, ya ain’t retire.”
“…I have another blade hither.”
Hither?
“Show me.”
“A moment.”
The stranger left from where he entered. Not a moment later he returned with a thin blade. Paper thin for westerosi steel, with a wooden handle branching into a twin guard.
And not a smidge of rust on it.
“That’ll suffice for th’ grub, ye can toil for the bed.”
“Verily”
“Beds up th’ stairs, first door on the right.”
The stranger left the blade. Making his way past the wooden tables and Cyd on his stool. Barth returned to the front of the counter.
“He bravossi then?”
“Bravossi?”
“Aye, lad gave yer’ one of ‘em water dancer blades. Better a toothpick.”
“What ye’ know about water dancers? Ya neva’ met one.”
“Some trader or other in Harroway.”
“How much was he sellin’ it fer?”
“A stag.”
Barth failed to withhold the smile that lined his face.
Barth and Cyd looked to the stranger as he came down the steps. No longer donning his chain and green cloak, instead a white linen shirt with an open divide to his chest and black trousers. The boots remained unchanged. The stranger soon sat a stool away from Cyd.
“So, what’ll ya’ have? We mainly hav’ stew, but you can get th’ beef or th’ mutton.”
“Beef.”
“Right then.”
As Barth went to prepare the stew, Cyd turned to the stranger.
“Well met, well met, name’s Cyd, that cranky inn keep would be Barth, been friends with ‘em fer a good while now.”
“…”
After a pause, the only sound being the continued pour of rain on surrounding branches and the clang of pots and pans as Barth worked on the stew. Cyd pressed on regardless. “Come now! We’re all friends ‘ere! No need to keep yer’ lips closed lad!”
Lips fail to open, like the gates of a keep.
“Well. You don’t look like yer from ‘round ‘ere. Got anywhere yer’ heading towards?”
“…North.”
He speaks!
“North? Now what would a blade such as yourself need with all that ice and snow up there?”
“I search for a banner.”
“A banner? Well, yer’ in luck my friend! We know all about them noble banners ‘ere! Got to, else we could ‘ffend the lot of ‘em.”
The stranger finally looked to Cyd. Cyd noted a scar, just below the cheek.
“Now what banner yer’ lookin’ fer?”
“A wolf upon the eventide sky, beholding the moon.”
Eventide?
“Well, I’m sorry lad, I don’t know much about an ‘eventide sky’. But if it’s wolves yer’ lookin’ for. I reckon yer’ headin in the right direction.”
“Whatever doth thou mean?”
What queer words.
“The north is domain to the wolf lord’s lad. The Starks of Winterfell, with their grey, snarling direwolf and frigid demeanor. If there be any who know of wolves, it be them.”
“And who would be the current lord of yon wolfen house?”
The sound of wood on wood signaled Barth’s return. Steaming bowl set in front of the stranger, “I think ya’ mean who’d be the current lord. The Quiet Wolf himself. Friend of the king, Eddard Stark. Just go up th’ Kingsroad till ya’ cock begin ta’ freeze. Then go a ways further ‘fore your fingers follow. Ya can’t miss it”
“I thank thee for the repast and word.” Then the stranger looked to the stew and ate like a starving brigand. Silent for the rest of the night no matter how much Cyd or Barth attempted conversation. The three only had the torch light for company.
The next morning, the stranger repaid his sum. Shoveling the stables and hunting his weight in boar under the cloud ridden sky. Before gathering his arms and walking down the road.
“I thank thee for the hospitality, might you all remain in goodly health.”
“Course lad. Be careful now, no matter the king, roads always wary for the single traveler.”
“I shalt, may we meet again.” With that the stranger walked down the road, leaving the inn keep and his old friend within the surrounding oaks.
Chapter 1 – inn