The Icebound Land- Character Reaction

20

A/N: AHHHHH. One more chapter until it happens. I'm low key freaking out right now😅

"Here, chief." Svengal tossed the book to the Oberjarl as he turned. Erak grunted as it hit his face, and then glared at the other Skandian as he laughed.

AN HOUR AFTER SUNSET, HALT AND HORACE LEFT THEIR ROOM and went downstairs to the taproom of the inn for supper. The innkeeper's wife had prepared a huge pot of savory stew. Horace grinned, and Cassandra smacked him. "You just ate!" It hung, simmering, in the enormous fireplace that dominated one side of the room. A serving girl brought them large wooden bowls of the steaming food, along with curious, long loaves of bread, shaped in a style Horace had never seen before. They were very long, and narrow, so they looked like thick sticks rather than loaves. But they were crusty on the outside and delightfully light and airy on the inside. And, the apprentice soon discovered, they were an ideal tool for mopping up the delicious gravy of the stew.

Horace sighed in contentment. "I could have eaten that all day." Will snorted.

Halt had accepted a large beaker of red wine with his meal.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Thought you couldn't handle alcohol?" he asked pointedly. Halt shrugged.

"Different times, Crowley." The sandy-haired Ranger rolled his eyes.

Horace had settled for water. Now, having enjoyed a large serving of a delicious berry pie, they sat over mugs of an excellent coffee. Gilan smiled.

Horace spooned a large helping of honey into his cup, watched with a frown by the Ranger.

"Killing the taste of good coffee," Halt muttered at him. Horace merely grinned. He was getting used to his companion's mock severity by now.

"And yet you still honey in yours," Crowley said, shaking his head. "Why, that's beyond me."

"You're too far gone to appreciate it," Halt said.

"It's a habit I learned from your apprentice," he told him, and for a moment they were both silent, thinking of Will, wondering what had become of him and Evanlyn, hoping they were both safe and well. Will and Cassandra exchanged a glance.

Halt finally roused them from their thoughtful mood by nodding toward the small group of townspeople seated by the fire. He and Horace had taken a table at the back of the room. It was always Halt's way to do this, keeping his back to a solid wall and sitting where he could observe the rest of the room and, at the same time, remain relatively inconspicuous himself.

While they were eating, the room had gradually filled with townspeople, either coming to eat or to enjoy a few jugs of wine or beer before heading to their own homes. Now, the Ranger had noticed, one of the room's inhabitants had produced a set of pipes from inside his pack, and another was fiddling with the tuning pegs of a gourd-shaped, eight-stringed instrument.

"See, that's a mandola!" Will exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. Halt shrugged.

"There's no difference. They're both string instruments."

"No!" Will shook his head in exasperation. "A lute has ten strings! A mandola has eight strings tuned in pairs!" Halt shrugged again, and Will sighed.

"Fine, then," he said, crossing his arms. "Next time I have it, I'm going to play Greybeard Halt." Halt glared at him, and he smirked.

"Looks like the entertainment's about to start," he told Horace.

And as they spoke, the other people in the room began pulling their chairs closer to the fire and calling for refills from the innkeeper and his serving assistants.