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<span class="mu-s">You are Vaaro Orlios</span>
And you’re currently enjoying your well-earned respite by the hearth. Harlor bought classic pear brandy from the innkeep, a bit watered down but a refreshing taste after the Myrmen’s swill. At least you think he bought the drinks. He was quick to suggest your stay here, and you are beginning to suspect he knows the woman better than he let on. She hadn’t haggled as fiercely as you’d expected for the two rooms you settled for. You hope he does know her. You’d rather not put up with his snoring tonight.
The boy called Alesander sullenly stares at your group from the corner he chose for a seat. Is he hungry? Another annoyance. You need to see these extra mouths fed or Gwynfryd will find cause to complain over that, too. It’s not as if you need cook and play maid to them, the welcome smell of spices wafting in from the kitchen speaks to that much, but you will need to pay for their meals after today. And paying is becoming a problem of its own. Your coin is running dangerously low. Passage was not free. Goranelos charged far less than you would’ve, but every bit counts right now. Another coin of silver to the auctioneer, another five for your rooms here… not good.
That should change on the morrow when the first three are sold, though. Rather than the debased nonsense silver stags Westerosi are so fond of, real pieces of silver will fill your purse. And good riddance to those three. You’d offered them their freedom if they could give you but one name of who might’ve made cause with Navaen, but the knights gave you nothing beyond puzzled, stupid looks and the crazed woman spit at your feet.
“Remind me again why we have a gaggle of women washing out back,” Haldon says, finally turning the subject back to your troubles and away from the banter of those newly returned home.
“The young one’s father is a Reach lordling of some sort,” you answer.
“Aye, you said that already. All the better. Don’t much like seeing the little ones up there. It’s the rest I don’t get. You have your woman, this Gwynfryd as you call her. We’ve been over that, too. Then there’s… what? This lad here and the other two girls,” Harlor summarizes.
“Not looking to make a fuss over it, just we’re curious is all,” Noren adds.
“The boy will be sold to a smith or the like. He knows metals,” you say.
“Doubt they’d pay more than others I might name,” Noren points out, and you’re sure he’s on to something. You know him to be a patron of at least one fairly respectable pleasure house. It’s where most of his coin goes.
“Hard to be sure and it’d be a near enough thing,” you say.
“What he means to say is his woman don’t want the boy buggered,” Harlor helpfully translates.
