A Crown For Kasamir

The Beartooth Grin

The old redwood door to the Beartooth Grin creaked as Kasamir carefully made his way into the dimly lit tavern. A thick fog of smoke hung suspended before him and the everwinter snow beat at his back. He quickly shook the snow loose from his tattered cloak. Kasamir looked it over and let out a wistful sigh. It was a deep black when it was given to him, but over the years it had faded a fair deal and was now covered in mud, sweat, and-much to his dismay-blood. If he never had to rinse blood from his clothes again it would be too soon.

The door groaned once more as he firmly slammed it shut. Aware of the amount of noise he must have been making, he looked up and scanned the room. But apart from a couple of brief, tired glances in his general direction, no one seemed to have even noticed him. For the most part, the roomful of weary faces remained fixed on their half-empty mugs and half-empty lives. He rummaged through the pockets of his cloak and grasped a few small coins. The seven silver brands he had were more than enough for a week's worth of comfort and bread anywhere in the Eadricean, but for a variety of reasons he could only afford one night. He would have to make this visit brief, then he would be back on his way to wherever the wind took him, always careful to remain unassuming and sticking to the comfort of the shadows.

He moved to hang his cloak on one of the many iron hooks that held a dozen or so others that were in roughly equal disrepair, but was stopped in his tracks by an icy voice that rumbled from the front of the bar.

"God's cock, son," the man growled through a mouthful of food. "Your mind must've taken leave of you if you think you can just trudge in here and sling that filthy thing next to those clean coats." The man turned so that he was fully facing Kasamir and stared at him with cold blue eyes. He sat still, sucking food out of his teeth and waited for Kasamir to respond.

Kasamir feigned a smile and held his cloak out at his side. "Well then, uh...What was your name, again?"

"Wymar Grin," the man said proudly in a deep, gravelly voice, stretching a wicked grin across his face that exposed a mouthful of meat, potatoes, and teeth-two teeth in particular that would trouble most men. Through the writhing mass of food, two large, bone-white fangs gleamed in the light of the hearth's fire.

Kasamir grimaced at the sight. "Well, alright then, Wymar. Your house, your rules. Where shall I hang my cloak?" He moved his hand like that of a broken compass. "Here? Or here? Perhaps here..." he said, gesturing toward the damp, soiled floor where he stood.

Wymar's smirk faded and he scowled at the insult, rising to his feet. "You'd best tame that wagging tongue of yours, stranger," he warned. Curious eyes began to wander back and forth between the two men, but never strayed too far from the safety and familiarity of the half-empty mugs in front of them. The tapster stood silently, absentmindedly wiping down the stained grain of the bar with a rag and kept a nervous watch over the exchange.

Kasamir carefully weighed his response. "Perhaps if your tongue wagged a bit more, that poor wife of yours wouldn't be forced to wander from the warmth of one bed to another."

The silence that fell upon the tavern was palpable. It hung suspended in the air, entangled in the thick fog of smoke and laden with the heavy weight of anticipation. The roomful of faces were now squarely fixed upon the two men. Wymar was not a man to be trifled with, much less mocked in his own tavern. The silence weighed down on the room for a long moment, and just when everyone thought that the two would come to blows, the sound of laughter came bursting from Wymar and the tension flushed from the room.

A giant smile spanned across the two men's faces and Wymar moved swiftly to embrace Kasamir. He grabbed Kasamir by the cheeks and kissed him on each one before stamping a wet, mead-drenched kiss on his forehead.

"You really are a bastard, Kasamir," he said with a chortle. "Attacking my poor imaginary wife. How could you?" Wymar playfully feigned injury. He smiled and motioned toward a small secluded table near the hearth. Relieved, Kasamir moved once more to hang his cloak on one of the iron hooks, but Wymar quickly took hold of his hand. "Kas, I was serious about the cloak. Can't have you dirtying other people's belongings. It's bad for business."

"Fair enough, old friend." Kasamir turned and faced an enormous deer's head that hung from the wall. Before Wymar could protest, he slung his cloak over its antlers and moved hastily to the table.

***

Time drifted by slowly and the two men filled the gaps between silences with short bouts of small talk. The silence alone did not worry Kasamir. He was used to its company now. The anxious stares and uncomfortable small talk, on the other hand, unnerved him. He knew that Wymar wanted answers-and worse-that he deserved them.

Wymar sat still, staring at his friend who had ferociously torn his way through quite the helping of sausage, bread, and stew, and who was now drinking his mead with such desperation that it seemed as though he feared that it would be the last mead to ever pass his lips.

Feeling the full weight of Wymar's gaze, Kasamir peered back at him over the brim of his large, wooden flagon and raised an eyebrow. "Ask. I know you're dying to, so go on."

Wymar nodded, gently running his fingers through a thick tangle of graying beard. "That obvious, is it? Well, then I suppose there's no point in easing into things." He took a large gulp from his flagon and wiped his face clean with the back of his sleeve. "Where in the seven pits of hell have you been, Kas? It's been years since Vaera-"

"Don't say her name. Grant me at least that much," Kasamir interrupted in a low, raspy voice. A great sorrow washed over his face as he lowered his head and stared down at his shaking hands, his silverware rattling softly against his plate.

Wymar gently took hold of his hands to calm the trembling and continued softly. "What happened to you, Kas? It's been so long and I've not heard so much as a peep from you, and now you show up in my tavern, bloodied and bruised." He turned Kasamir's battered hands over and examined them closely. They looked like they had been grated against the jagged bark of an iron oak tree. Dried blood caked into large scabs on his knuckles and his arms looked like they had been drug across a field of thorns. "You should visit her, Kas. The closure could do you som-"

Kasamir slammed his fists on the table and bashed his flagon hard with the back of his hand, sending it soaring off of the table. "Dammit, Grin!" he roared. Feeling that everyone was watching again, he lowered his voice. "What use is it to talk to dirt and stone? What good do my apologies do her now?" He fought back the quiver in his voice as best he could, but he could not hide the pain and anger that consumed him.

"Closure isn't for the dead, old friend," Wymar said softly as he patted Kasamir on the arm and gave him a gentle smile. "Now, it's been a long night for me, and clearly for you as well. I'll have a bath drawn for you and I'll prepare you a room. We can catch up more in the morning."

Wymar rose to his feet and held a hand out to Kasamir. He pulled Kasamir up to his feet and clapped his hands clean. He called out to the door behind the bar, and a girl no older than seventeen came from the back room. Long, raven-black hair flowed over her shoulders and bright, emerald eyes lit her face. Kasamir's eyes widened at the sight of her and for a moment a potent mixture of fear and curiosity consumed him. Those eyes... No, it can't be. But still, they look so similar.

Wymar held a fist to his mouth and coughed loudly, rousing Kasamir from his daze. "Paige, go upstairs and draw a bath for our guest here. We'll also need to see about finding him some fresh clothes. Can't have him staying here looking haggard as all hell." She quietly nodded and headed toward the stairwell across the bar. Wymar held out a large hand and looked at Kasamir expectantly. "That'll be about eight copper marks," he said casually, tracing Kasamir's line of sight. "Can't have staying here and eating for free."

"I know, I know," Kasamir said cooly, his eyes fixed on Paige. "It's bad for business."