A Tale of Crown and Country

Tavin

 Tavin approached the village cautiously. From prior experience he was right to be wary; for all he knew, Weltyn could be just as wary as strangers as the watchtower. Weltyn was a village set up in a square. It looked like someone had tried to systematically add streets to the main road that had prevailed there for generations. Short and squat houses made out of wood sat alongside the dusty road. They had left the forest behind, and Tavin was sure he wouldn't be seeing it for some time.

A small boy played with a stick at the edge of town. He drew patterns in the dirt and pushed the makeshift toy as far as he could into the ground, which wasn't very far. The boy winced in pain as the top end of the stick scraped his hand. Tavin wandered past him, wondering where the inn would be situated.

"You tryna find something, mister?" the boy asked, pulling his stick out of the ground.

Tavin turned to face him. He was short and skinny, with a slim face covered in freckles and a mop of reddish-brown hair atop his head. His clothes, though seemingly warm, were torn in places and much too large for him.

"I'm looking for the inn," he said.

"Where'r you from?"

The boy rubbed him the wrong way. His blunt question surprised Tavin; he had been led to expect the Allriyans to be less frank than his own people. And as the first Allriyan Tavin had met, the boy wasn't putting a fantastic picture in his mind.

"Why are you playing with a stick?" Tavin asked. He normally wouldn't have asked such a question in such a tone, but he was hungry and tired and he really didn't like the boy.

"I like playing with sticks. Where're you from?" The boy was relentless.

"Revdellen," he answered.

"Where's that?"

Tavin was ready to roll his eyes. "Reightneir." He would have been more specific, but the boy probably wouldn't have noticed, or cared.

"You ever wrestled a bear?" he asked, returning to his patterns in the dirt.

"No," Tavin said plainly.

"Too bad. Wrestling a bear'd be pretty cool."

Tavin sighed, "would you please just point me to the inn."

"You got any money?"

Oh boy this kid was annoying. Tavin was ready to break his stick in half. Although, maybe then he'd have two toys instead of just one.

"How much is a night there?"

"Six coins."

Tavin did a quick mental calculation. He thanked the stars the Allriyans had the same currency as them. It didn't help him, however, because he didn't have enough.

Neither of them spoke for a second. The boy pulled his stick away from the ground and tossed it into the air. It spun a few times before he caught it again. Tavin looked around, desperately trying to figure out what to do next. This was the next challenge, the next problem thrown in the hero's way. All he had to do was get around it and he'd be well on his way.

"What's your name?" the boy asked.

"Tavin Guildensrohn," he answered.

"That's cool. My name's Reichie."

"Reichie," Tavin asked, "how old are you?"

"Twelve last winter solstice."

"Last Rukta day," Tavin corrected to himself.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"You can come home with me," he offered.

"Are you sure?" Tavin asked, surprised with the offer and with his immediate answer. Never in a million years in Revdellen would he have taken up an offer of lodgings from a twelve year old boy playing with a stick in the middle of the night.

"Mother'd be fine with it, I think." Reichie's stick came straight down and he hopped out of the way to avoid losing an eye. "Come on, it's this way," he gestured in the general direction of the town.

Reichie wandered away and Tavin quickly followed. They hadn't walked far when Reichie stopped in front of a thin house squashed between two other wooden structures. It looked like someone had tried to squeeze the last bit of money out of the land in town, and Reichie's family was the poor recipients of such efforts.

The boy pushed the front door open and headed up the slim staircase to the second floor. The scraping of chairs and other such furniture could be heard from the base of the staircase and Tavin dreaded to think of what their downstairs neighbours thought of the family. The landing opened into a small room serving as living, dining, and cooking space. Through a crack in one of the two doors Tavin could see a bedroom, and he assumed the other held the same. But the thing that caught his attention wasn't the rickety wooden table and chairs in one corner, nor the linens hanging by the window, it was a large bustling woman wearing an apron and standing at the makeshift sink washing something. She was squat like Reichie but held none of the inherent natural skinniness he did.

"Is that you, Reichie?" she asked without diverting her attention from the washing. "I told you to be back–" The woman turned and spotted Tavin, and her scolding was lost. She replaced the washing in the tub and dried her hands off on her apron. "Who's your friend?" she asked.

"His name's Tavin–"

"–Guildensrohn," he added, sure the boy had forgotten his surname by now.

"Reichie..." she warned.

"He's from Reightneir," Reichie added, ignoring her.

Tavin smiled and nodded. "You must be Mrs–"

"–Surstan," she finished. "Reichie's mother," she glanced at her son. "Any friend of Reichie's is a friend of ours," she added warmly.

"Your son offered me a place to sleep."

"Oh now did he," she said accusingly. Reichie didn't seem to notice the glance his mother gave him; but Tavin did.

"I can stay at the inn if it's too much," Tavin retracted.

"Oh no no, it's perfectly fine. You are welcome to stay here."

"I'll be gone in the morning," Tavin said, trying to justify his need of shelter. "I just need somewhere to sleep tonight."

"Well you are welcome to stay here. The inn's not too good," she said smiling.

"Mother, you work there," Reichie piped up.

"Yes, I know," she gave a knowing smile to Tavin. "Now, why don't you give Tavin here some blankets for tonight." She turned to him, "you must have travelled far, coming all the way from Reightneir."

"Not really," he lied, "I set out from the watchtower this morning."

"You've been walking since this morning!" Mrs. Surstan cried. "You must be so very tired, then!"

Tavin didn't really have a response. He was tired, exhausted even. His polite courtesy had backfired and now Mrs. Surstan could probably tell he was asleep on his feet. Before Tavin knew it he had a pile of blankets set up between two chairs. The Surstan family, unfortunately, had two beds each occupied by two people each, and didn't have the room for a fifth body under their roof. Each family member supplied him with a blanket and/or a pillow, and with his coat added to the mess Tavin had a reasonably comfortable bed. More comfortable than the watchtower tent even.

He drifted off to sleep faster than he had since leaving Revdellen. He was warm and comfortable, and even though his stomach reminded him he'd forgotten to ask Mrs. Surstan for something to eat the aches in his feet overpowered that feeling. His exhaustion pulled him into a deep sleep before the thought from his stomach reached his brain. Tavin forgot he was in Allriya, forgot he was in a stranger's house, forgot about everything; he was just happy he could sleep soundly.