Tylen Meets Lilia
Pretty sure this will be in the book. I think.
Tylen put a hand to the rough wooden door and moved it open. There was an inevitability about the movement. It wasn’t in the use of force, or the desire to see it turn. It wasn’t in the want of drink either, or a need for company. No, it was only in that he appeared willing to die, without resisting, if someone tried to stop him. In that way, it was inevitable. He sighed when no one did, and stepped into the bar.
Taverns were the beginning of good stories, or so it seemed in tales and legends. But that was only because legends came to bars to tell their stories. Mortals died, and left theirs unsaid. Perhaps though, a mortal could also die in the bar, for it seemed there was nothing else good left to do.
Glancing around but without much purpose, he did note an improvement to the interior. The tavern keep must have changed, for spartan walls and stained tables had been covered in local crafts, and refinished wood. Presently a barmaid saw him. Whatever words she had thought to speak failed her when she had properly seen him, and instead she made her way to the nearest tap.
The sweet but overstayed scent of fermented wheat had not been taken out in the change, however, and he was doubtful it ever could be. The floor too was still much the same, with grooves and stains from nights forgotten, though far cleaner. Over in the corner were several other soldiers also recently returned, all together and several drinks in. Their eyes frequently held one of the barmaids, who seemed to enjoy it. In fact, the others in the room appeared jealous she received most of the attention.
Once he would have looked for company too. Arther would have been with him then, however.
“You look like you could use some company,” a low voice intonned.
He glanced at the more daring barmaid, wondering if the other men might come hit him for the privilege of her address. There wasn't time given for a reply.
“No he doesn’t,” a voice snapped, and the daring barmaid became a fearful barmaid and hurried away.
“Someone should tell you to quit moping. I think your face would look a lot better with a smile.”
Tylen’s eyebrow moved a little higher, and he turned to look at the feisty broom-holding creature before him, who had possibly insulted him. He stood up slowly, and placed a wide, too wide grin on his face that never reached his eyes.
“How is this?”
Tylen hunched overmuch when sitting, and his entrance had been quick, and rather stunted as well. He now reached to his full height, towering over her blonde hair a good two feet.
Her expression became intensely inquisitive, as if she were actually puzzling out his smile. Then she smacked him in the stomach with the broom. Tylen winced, although it didn’t hurt, and he looked at her incredulously.
“Ah, see,” she grinned, “That’s a lot better.” Then the broom resumed motion and she began to step away.
She had just swatted him with a broom after insulting him. While by no means ill intentioned, he knew many soldiers who would have had her on the floor anyways, and she had to have known that. Tylen was oblivious to the entire room’s stares nonetheless.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She turned a doleful eye on him. “The one who has to pay for the drinks if you have no money, since not everyone serving can tell when a man wishes to drown without company.” Her gaze pivoted to the girl who had originally set the first tankard down, and he realized she’d never set his tab or requested payment.
Tylen nodded slowly. “You own the Silver Handle.”
She curtsied whimsically and flourished with the broom. “Of recent, but proud nonetheless. The Silver--” and then she blinked, caught off guard for the first time since he’d seen her. “Not a passerby, then?” It had not been called that for some time.
“Depends,” he answered with an attempted grin, though it had been some time since one had tried his face and he was unsure of the result. “I…” In the back, someone mishandled their pint, and it fell to the floor with a crack.
For a moment, the room was gone, and catapult barrage slammed into the stone, the debris scattering and cracking against the thoroughfare. Tylen blinked it away with practiced apathy.
“I have money,” he answered, the grin fleeing from his face. “I will not be a problem.” And he placed enough coins for his evening plans.
Once again her look turned piercing, and it was as if she pondered each word for many seconds. Tylen wanted to think he found it unnerving, but there was another feeling he couldn’t place.
“Hm.” She took the money, and tilted her head back towards the bar, where the previous girl began filling another tankard. “Maybe you should be one.”
She said it as one pondering a studious tome, and Tylen again could not think of a response. His new drink then placed in front of him, he let the thoughts leave. There were already too many, and taking a large swallow he sought to find peace from them, if only for a little. He stumbled back to the barracks hall much later, and went to bed with one thought that the drink could not quench.
What was her name?