42 Chapter 27: S2-E3: Grim Tidings 1/3

Chapter Twenty-Six: Grim Tidings

Forward: As always, credit for edits goes to Rainsfere and to Max000 for draft reading.

Robb Stark - The North – Winterfell – Nightfall - Seven Days Later

…

Robb read over the letter once more, this one written by Geralt which had just arrived tonight. A mix of emotions filled the young man, making his hand grip the paper tightly, threatening to crumble it up. He felt joy to know that his sisters were indeed safe, proving the royal letter claiming they were under Lannister 'protection' was false. What had him at the edge of tears was the news of his father being dead, fatally wounded during the escape from the trial that had turned into an execution. The royal letter only claimed his father had escaped, so either the Lannisters were lying again or they didn't know of what happened to his father.

"And now they're all under the care of Lord Stannis." His father's last letter had put the Baratheon as the true heir to the Iron Throne and full support to the man's claim. Beyond just common knowledge and rumor, Robb knew little of Stannis, only that he was a stern man with a strict sense of right and wrong, along with having taken on a foreign faith from Essos. He couldn't be sure if the man was the right one to rule the Seven Kingdoms, but right now he had his sisters under his care. While he hoped Stannis wouldn't be ruthless enough to threaten them, there was a nagging worry of such an outcome in the back of his mind. "What will he expect of me?"

Not long after muttering those thoughts, there was a knocking at the door before Maester Luwin entered. "Lord Robb…they are all gathered in the Great Hall and wait for you."

Robb was silent, taking a deep breath as he calmed himself. Right now he couldn't seem emotional nor weak to the gathering of Northern Lords. Right now he was the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, he had to show them all he had the strength to be their leader. "Then it is time." Picking up Geralt's letter, he'd shoulder his wolf fur cloak before leaving the office, Luwin following close behind on the long walk to the feast hall. Looking out the window, he would see honor guard that had come with the dozen lords who had arrived in the last few weeks, with far more camped around Winterfell's wall. Robb knew the men of the North would obey the call, yet even he didn't expect such a large show of force.

The arriving at the Great Hall, he could hear the yammer of deep voices as the lords talked amongst each other. Food and drink were plenty, yet little had been enjoyed considering the matter they had been invited for. Everyone quickly quieted down as he entered, countless gazes locked onto the young man as he'd pace around to the head table. Robb soon stopped once he had a full view of the hall, looking over everyone gather. The silence remained, until at last he'd speak.

"Lord Eddard Stark…the Warden of the North and my father…is dead…"

The declaration brought an uproar of voices, yells of anger and shock followed by demanding remarks. It was like a boom of thunder as dozens of fierce warriors snapped out.

"How is it possible!?"

"The Lannisters lied! They murdered him!"

"It was a mistake for Lord Stark to have left…to have trusted them!"

"Quiet all of you!" One voice spoke out, an older yet unyielding that brought silence once more to the hall. Everyone's gaze moved to a tall and gaunt man with thick graying hair and beard. Everyone recognized his House symbol, the white sun on black background, the mark of House Karstark. The Karstark was a cadet family to the Starks, who have always been loyal to them over a thousand years. Lord Rickard as always stuck to that loyalty. "When did you learn of this news and from whom?" The old lord formally questioned in a gruff manner.

"From a man you should all know very well, Geralt of Rivia." The name quickly drew more muttering as many knew about the Witcher, either from his encounters with the Wildlings or his exploits at the tournament in King's Landing. A few had even been at the Melee, being a guest or fighter, letting them personally see the Witcher's unmatched skill. "We all know how he intervened during the trial, trying to save my sisters and father. Eddard was fatally wounded during their escape, but at least it was better than under the blade of an executioner."

Lord Karstark nodded in agreement. "Hope he died fighting at least." The old lord gave a small growl of anger, these events no doubt reminding him of what happened to Robb's grandfather and uncle.

Someone else stood up from the tables, a pale skinned man with longer black hair and gray eyes. His expression the whole time was blank, lacking any hint of emotion. Robb had heard of Roose Bolton, a cold and calculating man whose House had long been a rival to the Starks, conflict having broken out between them in the ancient past. They were one of the strongest Houses in the North, but also one of most brutal considering their old history of torture and flaying their enemies, which they had supposedly abandoned long ago.

"I have a question of my own. Where is this Geralt and your sisters now? It's obvious they had outside aid in escaping King's Landing, someone who has much to gain in all of this." Roose calmly stated.

The last statement did have a small sinking feeling come to Robb. After all, Stannis was the rightful heir to the throne and right now he needed as much support of each ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. He could easily use his own family to force Robb's submission…or force him into conflict. "Lord Stannis is the one who has taken my sisters under his protection. He owes that much since my father put his honor forward in supporting his right to the Iron Throne."

Everyone started to mutter about once more, sharing mixed feeling over this.

"What of Renly? I've heard he is staking his own claim and has a lot of support behind him."

"But he's the youngest! He has no right to the throne!"

"It's the Lannisters we should focus on, not the Baratheons!"

There were already hints of arguing building up but before they got out of hand, yet the loud slam of an iron flagon quickly had everyone become silent. Everyone's gaze focused on the man who stood up, being at least over seven feet tall and the most muscular man among the gathered lords. Lord Greatjon Umber, the man many proclaimed as the strongest in the North. House Umber's territory was the closest to the Wall, making them the first line of defense against any Wildling raiders that snuck over. Like the Bolton's, they had a history of being rivals with the Stark in ages past, yet they were now one of their most steadfast if boisterously fierce allies. Greatjon looked right at Robb, a strong look of judgment showing in those eyes as he sized up the young man.

"Here's what I think of our two 'kings'." The large man then thickly spat into the nearby firepit, the mix of thick ale still in his mouth making the flame flare slightly, drawing amused laughs and chuckles from most of the gathered lords. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither!" He'd pace about, as he spoke with such fierce passion. "Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood?" People nodded in agreement as he took pause. "Even their gods are wrong!" The added remark drew another round of laughter. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to and they are long since dead!" He'd turn to face Robb again, large hand pointing out towards him. "You may be Lord Eddard's son, yet how am I to know you'll have what it takes to lead us all in this coming war!?"

Northern independence has long been an ideal by most of the Houses of the North, ever since the days the Targaryens forced them under their rule. History showed that they had endured plenty of hardship with the countless conflicts that broke out, with the events before and during Robert's Rebellion taking a personal toll towards them.

"I question if you have the strength to lead us on the field since you haven't had the taste of a real battle, much less a true war. How can I…no…all of us be certain you have the will to face any hardship and put your people first"

Robb didn't answer at first, knowing he had to answer carefully towards Greatjon. House Umber had one of the largest number of bannermen, along with sizable influence with the minor Houses. If he didn't agree with Robb, the man could easily thin the North's numbers by a dangerous amount. He knew what he had to say to the man and show that he had the strength to be the new Warden of the North. He'd glanced at the letter in his hands, knowing right now this was a key moment that decide what would the course of the coming war.

"Lord Umber…" Robb approached the towering man, stopping once he stood before him. For a tense moment their gazes lock, both showing unyielding determination. "I understand if you doubt if I'm prepared for this war, but I've been preparing for this moment all my life." The young man's voice calm and carried stern command to it. "I won't let emotion dictate how I will act, vur I won't rashly make enemies like you suggest."

"Stannis can easily be an enemy to us. As you said he has your sisters, your father's remains and even your family sword. More than enough to try forcing you to bend the knee and submit to any demands he has." Greatjon remarked deeply back.

"Aye, he does, however I know he won't try to force me into alliance with him."

"Heh…are you that gullible to have such trust?" The mocking tone drew low voices of surprise as the older man spoke in such a way to Robb.

"No, I simply understand that Stannis needs the North more than you think, just as we need him more than you claim." Robb gazed around the hall, looking over everyone gathered. "The Lannisters already have a head start in this conflict. By now they'll be digging into the Riverlands and working towards forcing House Tully into submission or wiping them out. You all know how hard the battles in that region were during the Rebellion, only this time we have an enemy that won't make the same mistakes as the Mad King."

The reminder of that civil war had the voices quiet down and even Greatjon give a thoughtful look. None to deny how bloody that conflict had been, even if they tried to forget it all by focusing on the heroes and victories from that time. "So what do you expect us to do? Agree to serve alongside Stannis and let him rule us if he takes the Iron Throne?" Lord Umber question, speaking more formally for now.

"No…if there is one thing I do agree on it's the fact that our kingdom has faced too much hardship over the last few generations because of the southern Houses. The unity between us and the Iron Throne is faded, even more so with King Robert now dead." Robb paused for a moment to let those words sink in. "I plan to invite Stannis for a meeting at White Harbor, where he will return my sisters, father and Ice. I will offer an alliance to bring justice to the Lannisters and those who betrayed our trust towards them. When all is done, I will then press for the North to have independence."

The declaration drew a surprised look from Greatjon, easing away that judging stare he had been giving. Most of the gathered nobles seemed just as taken aback at Robb's promise, a mix of hope and doubt soon being silently shared. "What your suggesting won't be that simple, even if you show such confidence." Lord Umber muttered. "Stannis won't be swayed so easily, even if we hand the Iron Throne to him."

"Better to try diplomacy before throwing more lives away." Robb answered back. "That's why I need you at my side and all the Houses of the North." He'd hold out one hand towards the older lord, their gazes meeting once more. "Let's bring a stronger future for all the people of the North."

Greatjon chuckled, his amusement soon turning into a deep bellow before he'd strongly grasp the young man's arm. Both shook firmly, Robb showing quite the strength as Lord Umber gave a wide grin. "You got the same strength and spirit your father had at your age. You will have me and my bannerman at your side, though I will hold you to your oath this night."

"Good, I expect that of you."

Cheers filled the hall as everyone was pleased with this settled unity, a more boastful mood filling the air with food and drink was being enjoyed properly. Robb lead Lord Umber, Karstark, Bolton and the other major lords back to the main table to begin discussing plans. They had to march the main forces southward to get their own foothold in the Riverlands, along with trying to coordinate with the Houses in the region who were allies of the North. They had a lot of work ahead of them, yet the mood throughout the Great Hall showed pride and confidence for whatever may come.

…

Bran had been watching his brother give that grand speech, a small smile on his face as everyone seemed to be in full support for him. The boy was sitting in his wheel chair, having just been finished a few days ago after the best craftsmen of Winterfell constructed it under Maester Luwin's direction.

The chair could handle rolling outside, though muddy and rough ground made it difficult to move without someone pushing him. The back of it also had bolted leather straps, letting Hodor carrying him on his back like a pack to go upstairs or across rough ground. It was better than just simply being carried in the man's large arms.

"An historic day isn't it." Luwin muttered, as the maester sat down beside Bran with a tired sigh. "Haven't seen such unity between the lords since the Rebellion. It is a shame that war is the reason why this is happening though."

"It is…" Bran muttered. He was still shaken knowing what happened to his father yet…oddly he felt like he had known already. The odd expression on his face made Luwin glace at him with a concerned look on his face.

"You seem troubled Bran. Has sleep been difficult for you still?"

The boy shook his head after a moment, glancing towards the old man. "Just…thinking over what happened to father. How it happened…why it happened." He thought about Geralt, wondering if the Witcher was alright after all that had happened.

"Fate isn't kind to all of us Bran, even for good men like your father." Luwin put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to assure him. "You've suffered so much loss Bran, though you are a strong lad and will endure."

Bran nodded before glancing over to the head table, his brother deep in conversation with the major Lords. He knew that if his brother was going to be leading the war effort, that make him to manage Winterfell for a time. It seemed strange to have such a responsibly, a duty he'd shoulder with dedication and pride.

However Luwin was right about his dreams, they have been strange and almost life like. One dream had been with him walking once more and practicing archery in the morning, the yard being eerily empty as if everyone had disappeared from the Keep. The sound of a raven had alerted him, the black bird by the entrance to the family crypts. It kept cawing until he started to near it, yet once he got close the bird turned to face him, revealing a third eye set on its forehead. At that point he had woken up, but in the back of his mind he knew the strange raven was trying to guide him somewhere or tell him something.

Shaking his head, he'd glance at Luwin again who could tell the boy was distracted with his thoughts. "Just tell me if you have anything to talk about." Giving a small pat on the boy's shoulder, he'd get up and move to the head table, no doubt to advise Robb if needed.

Bran remained at his table, gaze a bit distant as he tried to clear his troubled thoughts. Beyond the troubled idea of war, he knew there was something worse lurking out there in the world. He could feel a chilling shadow from the south and on the nights, he roamed along Winterfell's walls, he swore the air was colder from the far north.

"Winter is coming…" He muttered to himself, knowing deep down things were only going to get worse.

…

The Riverlands – Fairmarket – The Next Day – Evening

Far to the south in the Riverlands, a different kind of meeting was about to take place. Fairmarket was one of the larger towns in the region, set quite close to the Trident just to the east, Riverrun to the west along with countless villages and holds all around. The place has constantly been on the edge of being a full-fledged city, with neighboring lords had constantly held the town back, seeing such a rise a threat to their own trade and wealth. Still, Fairmarket was a prosperous town which drew plenty of independent traders who often funded expansions and new businesses. While the Rebellion brought damages to the community, the twenty years had given them more than enough time to rebuild and grow.

On the eastern edge of the town was a large building that stood out from the others, mainly because the design was Northerner styled, looking like a drinking hall one could find in the North. Overall it had a welcoming look to it, the kind of place any weary traveler could get a strong drink and a clean warm bed for the night. The front of the hall had a large sign set above the heavy double doors leading in, surrounded by three large hallowed out drinking kegs set out it as decoration. The inn's name was the 'Three Kegs', a simple name that no doubt had a story to it.

Inside, the place kept to the Northern theme as the main room was a large hall which had large firepits and braziers set around to keep the room at a cozy warm temperature. Metal grills were set over some sections of the firepits, giving guests a means to cook any food themselves or keep a meal warm. Long tables and benches were set along the firepits in the inner part of the hall, while out towards the walls were booths and smaller tables for guests wanting privacy.

At the far end of the hall was a long bar with a mix of high chairs and bar stools to sit over two dozen people. The back of the bar had a wide selection of beer kegs and large bottles drinks from across Westeros and even Essos. Along the wall were a collection of trophies ranging from stuffed animal heads, pelts and weapons that the owner collected or donated by the patrons, sometimes to pay for expensive tabs they built up. At the center of the wall was a fine heavy crossbow on display, set low to be in reach for the lone bartender who was busy clearing up the last few patrons for the night.

Marcus set the last mug aside before rubbing over his gruff beard, giving a small sigh as he'd look over the near empty hall. "Slow night…" He muttered, having seen his usual customers slowly disappear as the week had gone by. He'd glance down to Garm, the half-wolf busy chewing up on the newest pile of bone scraps from his favored niched under the bar counter. "Going to be short on scraps for you." The innkeeper remarked to his canine companion. Garm whined slightly before continuing his chewing as the half-wolf got over the disappointing news.

"What did you expect Marcus? War is coming, and no one is planning to stick around." A usual patron chuckled from his stool before chugging down the last of his ale. "Everyone is packing up whatever they can carry and heading anywhere but here. Only those stubborn or too poor are remaining. The Riverlands are going to be flowing red in a week or so."

The Northern innkeeper didn't answer at first, giving only a small scowl as he'd collected the mug to hang up behind him. "Be simpler if the stubborn Lords dueled it out like in the old tales. Save us a lot of blood, sweat and tears." He grumbled.

"So what do you plan to do Marcus, going to hunker down with your family and shoot any soldier thinking to loot the place? You'd be better off moving to King's Landing."

"Rather die here than cramped in that dump of a city. I wasn't there when they sieged it back then, but I know how it bloody it was, especially for the common folk caught up in the Lannisters sacking."

The patron quieted down on that detail, glancing at his mug before sliding it over to Marcus. "Just looking out for ya mate." The man's gaze drifted to a woman with long brown hair who moved about clearing the tables of plates. She was a fair beauty in her early thirties, her figure slim under that deep green dress she wore. "You're a tough bastard Marcus, but you have to consider your family." The man set down the coin he owed and a bit extra. "Sevens fortunes to you Marcus. Hope I'll be able to come back here once this madness is over." With that, the man gave a short nod before strolling across the hall and out of the inn.

"Aye…so do I…" Marcus muttered, glancing over to his crossbow hanging behind him. One hand tapped across the bar top, hinting his restlessness as he wondered where his more shadowy companions where. "Zarin…taking your damn time getting here."

"Why are you mentioning him?" The woman questioned, holding up a stack of plates. Her blue eyes had a sharp look to him, judgmental and questioning, expected of an honest wife like her.

"Sandra…it's just him visiting for old times' sake." He started before the woman nearly slammed the plates onto the counter.

"You know how dangerous he is! Between his history and what he is capable of!"

"He'd never try to harm you or our daughter."

"That not what I'm worried about! Its more of what trouble he'll bring to us." She muttered back.

Marcus sighed deeply; head bowed slightly. "I owe him my life…heck he owes me his too. Without him we wouldn't have this inn even."

Sandra crossed her arms, turning about slightly as her husband made his defense. "I know. Just…I wish you didn't have to do it…putting your life on the line or having to hurt anyone."

"Things aren't that simple…you know that." He'd flip up the bar counter door to get to the other side, moving up to gently hold his wife's hands with his worn ones. "I've done my best to be a good and honest man…even it if means being hated for doing the right thing. I will keep to that path no matter what, for you and Merry." Leaning in, he'd share a tender kiss with her. "Even if all of Westeros threatens to crush us, I'll fight them all, tooth and nail for you."

Sandra blushed faintly, chuckling as he gave such a grand promise. One hand moved to caress his bearded cheek, her gaze softening. "I know." She sighed, before the main door opened suddenly. She and Marcus both looked over to see who was coming in at this hour and they quickly realized who.

It wasn't hard not to recognize Zarin as the old man walked in, his faded red robes and cap covering his thinning short cut black hair. He'd straighten out his clothes, no doubt having been riding for a long while to get here. Despite being at least into his mid-fifties, he had a tall stance and moved quite limberly, showing that time hadn't slowed him down since Marcus had last saw him.

Following behind him was his much larger traveling companion, Ogatto who'd stretched his broad shoulders about, shifting the large Arakh he had strapped over one. The Dothraki did draw some odd looks from the few patrons who looked at him, the copper skinned man not seeming to mind as he followed Zarin.

"Heh…Marcus. Seems you've kept this place in order last I last visited." Zarin chuckled as he approached the Northerner and his wife, who gave a short nod in greeting to them both.

Marcus smirked a bit before giving the old man a short hug and shaking hands firmly. "And you're staying fit it seems. Traveling seems to be doing good for your health." The innkeeper remarked.

"When you learn as much as I do, the limitations of age are…simple to understand." Zarin vaguely remarked before focusing his attention to Sandra. "Lady Sandra, looking as beautiful as ever." He even gave a short formal bow, though the woman didn't seem impressed.

"I hope this visit won't be like the last time." Her gaze did drift to Ogatto, the Blood Rider was busy petting Garm who had hurried over to the group and jumped up to lap at the man's chin in a friendly manner. Seeing the woman's sharp look towards him, he'd give a big grin towards her. Most would be nervous of someone like him, Shandra though seemed unfazed with the tall Dothraki warrior.

"I'm not bringing trouble this time, if that is what your suggesting." The Dothraki remarked.

"You had smashed nearly a dozen chairs and three tables after the fight you started."

The horse rider shrugged, seeming to find that memory casual. "Maybe those men shouldn't be so hateful to my people. Besides, Marcus got caught up in that."

"Wasn't going to let you and a dozen loggers destroy my inn." He grumbled, but he did have a faint amused smile remembering that brawl.

"The past aside, we have business to discuss." Zarin glanced about the hall, seeing a few of the lingering patrons had left since their arrival, though a few remained. "Mind if you close up the place?"

"What about the others?"

"Oh they'll be coming. I've…done my estimates and they will be all here tonight."

"Ah yes…your 'estimates'." Marcus muttered, rolling his eyes slightly.

The alchemist gave a low chuckle. "Don't sound so doubtful, I've rarely been wrong."

Sighing, Marcus decided not to argue. "Fine, I'll get the stragglers out. It's also a good thing no one has taken any rooms for the night as well." Glancing to Sandra, he'd quickly add. "Please make sure the both of them get a fresh meal and whatever drink they want."

She'd nod before she and the two strange travelers moved to the bar counter, while Marcus strolled around the tables to convince the few people remaining to leave. It wasn't too hard considering the late hours and the fact most were simply locals. They respected Marcus and had a feeling there was something important going on. With the hall emptied, he'd head outside to get the large sign flipped to closed. As he'd glance around the road, he'd see a lone armored figure walking towards the inn, the low sun silhouetting the figure's large form.

"Keep forgetting he never rarely uses a horse." Marcus remarked as the figure neared.

The man was decked completely in a dull grey colored armor, worn by untold amount of time to have lost any hint of luster, making it look like it was made of stone instead of metal. The armor lacking any detailing features, being nearly smooth except for the expected bolts and leather work that kept it all together. Covering the man's head was a solid great helm, which had a wide visor letting him get a mostly full view in front of him, though it shadowed his features hidden under the helmet. At his hip was a large fanged mace, the weapon matching the man's overall grey armored appearance having the same color, though it was not aged like the armor and in fact finely crafted. Along his back was a heavy square shield, tough enough to stop any charging attacker in their tracks. Despite all that heavy gear, the man didn't seem tired or strained wearing so much.

"Marcus." The knight's voice was deep and clear despite the helmet, his tone unnatural calm even. The armored man's head looked over the Three Kegs, giving a short approving nod. "The place looks nice."

"Good to see you too, Ser Doric." Marcus remarked back as he'd give a friendly pat on the tall man's armored shoulder. Up close, Doric had the thick smell of herbs and armorers oil about him, making it impossible to tell if the man even sweated under all that plate. "No trouble on the roads, right?"

"Ran into Lannister soldiers along the King's Road…they questioned but didn't stop me."

"Doubt most people would try arresting someone like you." Marcus chuckled. "Anyway Zarin and Ogatto are already inside. I'm sure the old man has a lot to talk about with you."

Doric only gave a small 'hm' and nod before he'd move for the door into the hall, while Marcus followed in after him. The knights armored boots drew creaking stomps as they went across the tough wooden flooring, drawing both the alchemist's, Dothraki's and Sandra's attention. Marcus's wife gave a warm smile to the knight as she'd slip around the bar and walk toward him, giving a short hug over the man's broad chest.

"It's good to see you again Doric. Been following with your oaths I take?" She kindly asked as the man strolled towards the bar.

"Of course." The armored man again was vague and to the point with his answers, yet always speaking formally. "I visited Essos recently. Did honorable work around Slavers Bay, though hardly a scar to the cruelty there."

"Your sense of justice may be strong Doric, but not even you can dent the slave trade." Ogatto remarked, leaning back against the bar counter, taking a deep drink from his mug. "Slavery is outlawed here, yet the commoners are pushed and tormented by their lords as if they were slaves."

Doric glanced at the Dothraki, though no one could tell what gaze the man was giving towards the Blood Rider. "Compared to what I've seen in the east, this is better." He calmly stated.

"If all goes as planned, all the free folk of Westeros will live better lives." Zarin intruded before the two started debating. "There is a reason I recruited both of you. You're both wise in the ways of the world, having unique views points of it. Don't not let those views blind you to the broader scheme of things though." Pausing, he'd nod to Doric. "How is the armor doing for you? Have you been maintaining it and your wraps correctly?"

"Yes." Doric hardly changed his stance, his head just shifting to glance towards the alchemist.

"Good. I take you've also been keeping your unique supplies in check."

"Yes. The instructions you gave me have allowed wise men to restock what I need."

"Very good." Zarin stroked his short beard in thought before nodding. "I can inspect if you-"

"No. It isn't needed."

"As you wish." Still, the alchemist moved to his satchel, taking out small jars and offering it to Doric. "Still I trust my stock over anyone else. Use them."

Doric didn't argue, putting them in a belt pouch along his waist. "I need to change and eat for now. May I use one of your rooms Marcus?"

"Of course. The inn suite is yours, last door down the back hall." Marcus pointed down a wide hallway that was beside the hall, where all the guest rooms were set. There was another hallway on the other side, leading to the inn storage and Marcus's family rooms. "I'll have Sandra send food and drink to you."

"Thank you." Giving a short respectful nod, he'd move to hallways, though he stopped when he just glanced to the other hallway. He was still like a statue, seemingly not even breathing.

"Ugh…don't tell me he's dead now." Ogatto jested before he'd glance over to see where the knight was staring at. "Ah that's why."

"Merry! Why are you still up at this time!" Sandra hurried over as a young girl stepped out from her hiding spot around the doorway. She was only seven years old, having long messy chestnut brown hair and dazzling blue eyes, brighter than even her mother's. She wore a lovely deep blue summer dress, one she always enjoyed wearing even for bed time.

"But I wanted to see uncle Zarin!" Merry cutely whined, giving a short wave to the old man who gave a short friendly nod back to the girl. "Please! Besides…I've never seen a knight before too!" Her gaze looked to Doric, who hadn't moved an inch still.

Sandra sighed as she'd mutter something to Merry, the girl giving a small thankful grin before her mother let her hurry off to the alchemist. Zarin chuckled before leaning down to give the girl a hug and lift her up, having no trouble with her light weight. "Ugh! You've grown since last I visited." He chuckled, sitting back in one of the chairs and having the girl sit on one knee. "Been eating well and playing outside often?"

Merry nodded, wide eyes looking over Zarin's faded red robes, seeming curious on the vials he had carefully tucked away among straps and ties. "I help around the inn at times. Moving stuff and cooking." She'd rock a bit on his knee before giving a shy look. "So…do you have that one gift from before?"

"Oh…you mean this?" Reaching into his satchel, taking out something wrapped in thin paper. "You did love this when I last visited." With the wrapping removed, the girl gave an eager look seeing the honey nut treat, a rare sweet the alchemist had brought before. "It's a few days old, but I've kept it wrapped up to keep it fresh. A little time by a flame will warm it up nicely." He said before wrapping the treat up. "Promise you'll share it if old Marcus asks of some." He said in a teasing manner, mainly towards the innkeeper who chuckled in amusement.

"Promise!" Taking hold of the treat, she seemed to enjoy the honey scent it had as she held it close.