Part One #2
Westin tried to give the visitor a reassuring nod so they would resume their conversation with the worker sharing their table, then reached up to check that his braid at least passed muster for the common room.
His hair was still damp from his bath but soft and as perfumed as a spice cake.
He couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the honeyed or floral scents in the baths, but the spiced ones were at least interesting.
The end of the braid fell between his shoulder blades, hair longer than most in the Outguard would bother with but not unheard of, and was dark as night if one ignored the streaks of silver.
The rest of him, his plainer clothing aside, should have been acceptable.
His broad brow, dark eyebrows, even his beaky nose, big though it was, were unobjectionable.
He’d shaved his beard in expectation of returning to the capital and because he’d never cared much for the beards grown while traveling, though they were certainly easier to deal with than trying to shave on the road.
The skin of his jaw was smooth as well, the work of more potions from the baths. He ought to buy some before he left. Solace House did offer them for purchase, and who knew when Westin might make it back this way. And perhaps once at home, he’d want to look his best.
Even with no one but family to show off for.
Westin turned away from the visitor to have more tea, although the visitor continued to eye him.
They looked wealthy. Maybe they were the kind of beat-of-four to object to Westin’s simple clothing.
The wool of Westin’s shirt was decently woven and undyed, a pale off-white that went well with his dark, gold-under-brown coloring, the collar loose and untied because Westin was still warm from the bath.
The bit of chest hair peeking out shouldn’t have offended anyone, and Westin wasn’t remarkable enough in any direction to attract that much attention.
Maybe the visitor had seen Westin arrive, and Westin, tired from travel and a few nights of poor sleep, had walked with less care than he should have.
He thought he walked quite well for a man missing a few toes, though that had taken time and effort. But he did grow clumsier when exhausted, and some people were strange about those with injuries or difficulties.
Then Tura, the worker sitting with the visitor, turned around and said with a smile but loud enough for Westin to hear, “That’s Westin. He doesn’t work here,” before taking the visitor’s hand in his, which effectively recaptured all of their attention.
Westin blinked several times and resisted the urge to glance to Hely. Hely knew everything anyway and would hear about it from Tura by morning. Nonetheless, Westin focused on sipping his tea and considering if he had ‘good listener’ written somewhere on him.
It was that, or the gray in his hair, or his size.
Those could attract people. Westin wasn’t all that large—not among outguards anyway, who tended to be broad and tall.
Being a giant wasn’t a requirement, but the hazards of the work were reduced for those who looked at first glance as though they would win all fights.
Smaller outguards traveling alone certainly seemed to get into more trouble.
The ache in Westin’s wrist spiked, nearly making him drop his cup, and he glanced up as though he could peer through the roof to the clouds.
“Are you in pain?” Hely’s question arrived a blink before Hely did, setting a new pot of tea on the table before seating himself at the chair on Westin’s right.
“You’re too good at your job.” Westin informed him without malice.
“Observation is something they teach outguards too,” Hely said, not appearing even a tiny bit modest. “But I am very good at my job, yes.”
One of the best, if the stories were true, although these days, Hely really did stay mostly behind the bar or work managing the inn. He might still have regular customers, or friends, or those who were both, but keeping things running smoothly seemed to make him happier.
There was a thought; Hely had changed a career, or at least, changed how he handled it. Westin ought to consider that.
He glanced over Hely instead, his short hair, also showing gray, his big green eyes, the nearly spotless apron.
“Are you all right?” Westin wondered. “Still enjoying life away from customers?”
“It’s not about me.” Hely smiled. “Not out in the common room like this. Tsk.”
Westin had not put conversation on his tab and gave Hely another look. “I haven’t asked for that.”
“You’re not happy.” Hely reached out to accept the cup of wine one of the workers brought over for him.
“Usually some rest, a bath, tea or a meal, and you’re at least settled.
Tonight, you’re almost twitching. You never twitch, not our Westin.
Perhaps what you’re looking for is not to be found in Solace House. ”
He managed to sound a little insulted.
“It might not be anywhere,” Westin answered, then hurried on when Hely’s eyes widened. “If you want to be off your feet, I don’t mind. But I truly didn’t come here to complain to you. You’re busy as it is. Unless,” Westin paused, “you had something you wanted to talk about?”
“Westin.” Hely had some wine. “Don’t you do that enough? Offer to listen? And for free?” He had some more wine, or at least, appeared to have some wine. Westin had long suspected most of the workers in Solace House didn’t actually drink much wine or ale while working.
He rolled his eyes at Hely’s concern but softened it with a smile. “I don’t mind most of the time.” Which was true. “Especially not with friends.”
Hely grinned for that, a real one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. His husband adored those crinkles.
But they were there and gone; Hely was serious again. “But do they listen to you, your friends? When the other outguards find you to share a campfire, or turn to you for an ear or a body, do they also allow you to do the same?”
Westin regretted ordering tea. Wine suddenly seemed a much better idea. “That’s a little more pain than I was looking for this evening,” he said lightly.
“What are you looking for?” Hely raised a politely questioning eyebrow.
“You aren’t here to sit in silence—you’re frowning.
Which is in itself an event. Our patient giant is frowning.
” Westin wasn’t a giant but didn’t bother interrupting Hely.
“Either an injury is troubling you or you have a problem. You’re going to end up brooding.
You’re nearly there now. I refuse to allow it.
You’re my friend and a good customer, but also,” he leaned forward and lowered his voice, “it will affect the mood in here.”
Westin cracked a smile despite himself. Hely seemed pleased with that result, leaning back again.
“I’ll tell you what I’d tell anyone who’d want me to be direct: think about what it is you’re actually looking for.
” Hely left the options—peace, companionship, quiet, excitement, touch, a fuck—unspoken.
“And then consider where that might be found and if it’s here.
If you need further help, then I would ask if you want to be happy or if you want to be content, and when was the last time you were either. ”
Summer. Westin had last been happy in late summer, with autumn in the air but the weather still warm enough to make him sticky beneath his clothes and stare longingly toward the river parallel to the road he’d been on.
He should have hurried to get to the next village, not let his gaze linger on the sparkling water so often that his desire to jump in and cool off had become obvious.
No, Westin thought in the next moment. Not then.
Later. In that village that same evening, in a too-small room, in a too-small bed, sticky and hot all over again.
A barn would have done for a bedroom. Nobles and innkeepers were required to give outguards somewhere to sleep, and piles of straw happened more than straw-stuffed mattresses. But Sun had insisted on a bed.
“I don’t think I’ll find that here,” Westin realized aloud.
Nor was he likely to find it in the capital or anywhere else.
He might have told himself that he hadn’t yet made up his mind about retirement, but he had and that memory proved it.
He had felt heavy even then, as if a part of him had known it was his last trip to that village, his last break from duty to slip his feet into a cool stream, his last time spent watching the brat charm an innkeeper into giving him something nice for less money or for free.
He’d felt it in his chest then and he felt it now.
He summoned a smile for Hely anyway. “But I’ll settle for some peace if I can find it. ”
The entrance door opened with a crash of thunder, the suddenly louder sound of heavy rain, and the startled exclamation of someone at the bar.
The rain was muffled again following the quick rush to close the door.
Then thunder boomed with enough force to rattle dishes and Westin glimpsed a flash through a window—lightning, and not that far away, before another rumble passed over the inn.
“Just in time,” the new arrival panted a few feet from the threshold, a long, hooded cloak dripping a puddle at their feet.
The dark wool was familiar, practical and sturdy and meant for nights like this one.
Hanging from one of the visitor’s hands was a bundled travel pack, and in the other was a sword, still in its scabbard and gripped around the middle—to be carried, not to be used.
“The fae and their mothers bless it all,” the newcomer swore—not too loudly, in all fairness, but the common room had gone silent at his entrance, so the words traveled. “Not a night for anyone to be out.”