[Mithadan]

A Man entered the room. His cloak was stained and threadbare. His boots were caked with mud. His shirt was torn and his trousers were more patch than cloth. And were those cobwebs on his hands? His fingers were bent and gnarled as if from long disuse.

His hair might once have been raven black, but now the dominant color was silver. His head hung as if weighed down with sorrow or great regret, yet he seemed familiar.

He walked to the bar and leaned heavily upon the rail. Then, as if with great effort, he straightened himself and raised his head. His eyes were clear and grey and a hint of a smile crossed his face. And with that smile, years seemed to fall from his shoulders. He reached for a flagon of ale and raised it up in a salute, before taking a long draught.

He turned about to face the room and scanned the many people around him. Some were familiar, others less so. He brushed the cobwebs from his hands and stretched out his fingers.

"I... remember this place," he said quietly. "I have been here before, but have been long absent." He drew a hand across his eyes, and his smile grew broad.

"I have been here before," he repeated. "And I have missed this place."

A person he did not recognize came forward hesitantly. "Your name, sir?"

The Man hesitated. "My name? I... I was... Nonesuch... and... other names." He frowned as if deep in thought. "Gravlox? That sounds familiar. Aelfwine? Grrralph... and there was another... another name."

Kuruharan stepped forward. "For five silver pennies, I will tell you your name," he said, extending a hand, palm up.

The Man reached into a pouch, rummaged about, then counted five coins into Kuruharan's hand. The Dwarf crooked his finger to the Man, who bent over to allow Kuruharan to whisper in his ear. Then he straightened, and a look of amazement passed over his face.

"I... I was Mithadan," he said. It was almost a question.

Kuruharan hesitated as if he was considering asking for another fee. Then he also smiled.

"No," the Dwarf said. "You are Mithadan."