Mardath strode into the inn, brushing at his cloak and hair and muttering something incoherent under his breath about the rain. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, black-bearded and weathered. His eyes were a surprisingly bright and merry green, the color of new leaves.
He stopped just inside the door and surveyed the tables, as though the inn and all it contained were just a part of a kingdom. His kingdom. Mardath clumped over to the bar and loudly called for ale. Then, when the innkeeper looked at him rather sternly, he sheepishly repeated his request, much more quietly.
When Aman delivered his drink, he tapped her arm and gestured to a table in the corner, where two men and two women were seated. One of the women looked familiar, like an old friend of his. Or maybe an old friend's daughter.
"D'ye think they'd mind 'f I were to join 'em?" he asked, still quietly. That , where had he seen her before?
"I don't think they would, but ask them," Aman replied.
"Think I will."
He strode over to the table in the corner and grinned. Without bothering to ask, he sat down next to the . "Heyla, miss. I'm Mardath." He extended his hand.
He didn't notice the way she shrank from him, or the way one of the men frowned at him. What he did notice was as near nothing as makes no difference.
Now, Mardath was not really the sort of person a mother would approve of her child bringing home. He was a hunter, coarse and rough. But he had a good heart and wouldn't hurt a fly. Unless someone attacked him or someone whom he considered under his protection.
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