Andraste's Chevalier

Chapter 16- The Baker and The Mother

"In spite of all the hardships, the people go on with their lives. I guess it is as the old saying goes. When there is a will, there is a way."

- From the Journal of Eratus Riverwood

Pale unblinking blue eyes stared into mine. They were dead but the accusation in them was clear.

"Why..."

My own eyes shot open and I swerved upright from the bed.

I was back in the room. A drop of sweat gleamed down my cheek. My hand came up to wipe it away.

The faint aroma of stew wafting into the room eased my nerves. There were the sounds of footsteps from other guests outside along with the muffled voices of conversation in the level below.

I breathed deeply and slowly, just like how I was taught as an initiate. It was just a nightmare. A shadow of the past.

The straw pillow and mattress crinkled as I shifted out of the bed. I brushed off a few golden strands that had stuck to my back. My eyes drifted to the corner of the room where the brick that I bought yesterday sat undisturbed. The Lorekeeper's projection was gone.

"Knight-Lieutenant Riverwood. I have finished extraction of the data from the artifact."

"Anything good?" I said after a yawn.

"It will take me some time to process the information."

I stretched out my limbs, my joints cracking with each movement.

"How long?"

"Duration estimated half-planetary rotation... translating... half a day."

Well hopefully he would have something useful by then. I, on the other hand, needed to clear my thoughts. A shower should help. Hopefully the bucket was free.

"Let me know if something comes up."

***

I sat on a bench in the tavern's main room and scratched my waist for perhaps the fourth time this morning. Whoever sewed this tunic had done a terrible job. There were flaps of extra cloth that chafed against my skin every time I moved. I should have paid closer attention before buying it at the market.

It was tempting to go back and change into my old clothes. However, they were now drying in my room. They were in dire need of a wash. For now, I endured the itchy brown tunic.

My journal was open on the table in front of me, and I was about to resume reading when a hand placed a bowl of stew and a spoon by it. I looked up to see the innkeeper, a fat man dressed in a brown apron with a wide brimmed beard and moustache. His lips were smiling but not his eyes. Ever since the night rushed into the inn with the elf on my back, he had been regarding me with suspicion.

"Here you go," he said.

"Thanks."

He began to turn but stopped. "You ain't a templar, are you?"

"Pardon?"

"You look like one, and you know how to read. Only people who know how to read out here are the merchants, nobles, or those with the Chantry. You don't look like the first two so I figured you were the third."

"No, I am not."

"Eh, didn't mean to pry. Just curious that's all. Enjoy your meal."