Twig leaned back in his chair while waiting for his meal. Soon, the young waitress returned with a steaming bowl of soup — the promised chicken broth — along with pieces of roasted boar, a cup, and a small jug of wine. She carefully placed everything on the table before him.
She smiled warmly, and he nodded in thanks. But she didn't leave.
Twig lifted the bowl, tasting the broth — and she was still staring.
"For now, that'll be all," he said, a little uncertain.
"Of course," she replied softly, stepping back with a faint trace of disappointment on her face.
As she walked away, Twig thought to himself, "What a strange girl." The food was decent — not Jenny's cooking, but still good enough. As he ate, more patrons began to arrive, and soon the inn was full, voices rising like a tide of laughter and clinking mugs.
Just as he was finishing, a well-dressed man approached his table.
"Good evening, young man. Seems every seat is taken, and you're alone. May I join you?"
Twig looked up. The man's face seemed familiar, though he couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before.
"What's your name?" Twig asked.
"Ah, forgive my manners," the man said with a courteous smile. "Janus. I'm a traveling merchant. And judging by your clothes, I'd say you are too, am I right?"
Twig gave a short nod. "Sit down, Janus. I'm almost done anyway — you can take the rest of the table once I'm finished."
"Thank you, kind merchant," Janus replied with an arched brow, as though expecting a favor in return.
"My name's Robert," Twig said. "Also a traveling merchant — though my caravan isn't with me right now. It's my first time in the Riverlands. I came to buy a few horses before moving on."
"Splendid! Then we're truly comrades of the road. Tell me, how have business ventures been treating you lately?"
"As usual," Twig replied simply. "No complaints."
The waitress returned, eyes still lingering on Twig. Janus raised his hand. "Miss, bring me the same as my friend here. Excellent choice, I'd say."
"Yes, sir." She hurried off toward the kitchen.
Before their conversation could continue, the neighboring table erupted in argument.
"Shut your mouth, Geisel! You never stop talking about that thing! We survived, didn't we? You didn't die, none of us did! Only those damned bandits!" a man shouted.
Both Twig and Janus turned toward the noise — as did half the inn.
"Uh-oh," Twig muttered. "Is a fight about to break out?"
"Seems likely," Janus replied, lowering his voice. "That group's been causing trouble since they got to Riverrun today."
"You know them?" Twig asked.
"Oh, you haven't heard?" Janus leaned closer. "That caravan's been loud all day. They even demanded an audience with Lord Tully himself, babbling about monsters and strange creatures. Pathetic. Clearly, they were attacked by bandits and are now making up stories to gain sympathy or protection."
Twig thought for a moment. "Well… if he sends patrols down the road, it might actually be good for us merchants in the end."
"Exactly," Janus agreed. "Safer roads mean more profit."
Then his expression darkened. "But honestly, Robert, their story is ridiculous. Probably a cheap attempt to get attention from a noble. They're nothing but common traders — they should know their place."
"Maybe there are a lot of bandits on the road, though," Twig said mildly.
"Yes… there are," Janus admitted. "Since the Defiance of Duskendale fiasco — six, seven months ago — scum from that region scattered everywhere. The Riverlands are wide open, full of rivers, lakes, and woods. Perfect breeding ground for thieves."
Their talk was interrupted again by a sharp voice from the noisy table.
"Silence, all of you!" shouted the man called Geisel. "That creature slaughtered every one of those men like they were nothing! You talk as if we were blessed to survive — but that thing wasn't natural. It was a demon! The world must know it walks these woods!"
The same man who'd scolded him earlier snapped back, red with anger. "I told you to shut it, fool! Look around — you're making a scene. Everyone's staring! Don't you get it? Whatever that thing was, it spared us. If it wanted us dead, we'd be corpses already. You saw what it did to those bandits!"
Twig chuckled under his breath and turned to Janus. "That guy must've hit his head… or drank too much. He can't be serious, right?"
But Janus didn't laugh. His brow furrowed slightly — thoughtful. "Strange," he murmured. "If they were lying just to reach Lord Tully, they wouldn't be arguing like that. Only one man insists on the story. The rest try to silence him, but none call him a liar."
He stood up. "Excuse me, Robert. I'd like to hear this tale more closely."
Janus crossed the room. Geisel, frustrated and half-ignored by his companions, felt a hand on his shoulder.
"You're Geisel, right?" Janus asked. "I'm Janus — also a merchant. Tell me about this demon creature. I'm curious."
The others at the table glared at him. "Mind your business, stranger," one growled.
Geisel lifted his head, still trembling. "You don't understand. None of you do. Last night, on the road here, we were ambushed — a whole band of brigands. Our guards couldn't hold them. It was chaos, blood everywhere… then that thing appeared. The sound it made — gods, the fire — it was like nothing I've ever seen."
Janus raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. "You've been drinking, haven't you? You sure about what you saw?"
"I'm not drunk, and I'm not mad," Geisel said fiercely. "Everyone here saw it! It was a massacre. That thing spewed fire, burned men alive, caught arrows with its bare hands, and hurled a flaming spear that pinned a man to a tree before he turned to ash. If someone told me this in a tavern story, I'd call them crazy. But I saw it. With my own eyes."
Janus studied the faces around the table — no smirks, no jokes. Only fear. The kind that lingers long after the danger is gone.
"I find it hard to believe, Merchant Geisel," he said slowly. "Something like that can't exist."
"Then go see for yourself," Geisel retorted. "Head east, down the same road we took. You'll find the bodies — burned, torn apart. Trees scorched black. If you don't believe me, go. See what that demon left behind."
Janus shrugged. "Maybe I will. My caravan's heading that way tomorrow anyway."
At that moment, two guards from the corner of the room approached, drawn by the noise.
"Is there a problem here?" one asked.
A few merchants quickly tried to calm things. "No trouble, officer. Just a little too much ale. Everything's fine."
The guards exchanged glances. They'd heard enough to know something was off. Still, they decided to let it go — for now. Without another word, they turned and left the inn.
Janus returned to his table. Twig had already finished eating and was standing up.
"Well, Janus, I'll take my leave. Try not to have nightmares about those mad merchants tales," Twig said, smirking.
"Goodnight, Robert," Janus replied, still visibly unsettled.
Twig went to the counter. "How much for a room? Any will do. I just want a roof tonight."
"Fifteen copper coins," said the innkeeper.
Twig dropped two silver coins on the counter. "Here. Keep the change."
The innkeeper's eyes gleamed. "Of course, young master! Room's upstairs, third door."
Twig climbed the stairs. The room was small but serviceable — a decent bed, a chair, and a single window. He dragged the chair under the door handle, wedging it tight. If anyone tried to enter, the crash would wake him instantly.
Better safe than sorry, he thought, collapsing onto the bed.
He stared at the ceiling, replaying the day — the city, the guards, Geisel's story. Then his thoughts faded, and sleep claimed him.
Dawn came early.
Twig woke before sunrise and left without breakfast. He headed straight for the horse merchant's stable. The old man was already at work, brushing down one of the animals.
"You're early, young master," he said, surprised. "I'm not quite finished yet."
"No rush," Twig said. "I'll wait — but not too long."
Sensing his impatience, the old man worked faster. Soon, the three horses were ready — saddled and bridled.
Twig approached and nodded approvingly. "I'll ride the young one. The others can follow behind. Tie them together with a rope."
The old man obeyed, checking the straps twice. Twig mounted the dark chestnut stallion, tested the reins, and secured the leads of the other two.
When he rode out onto the main road, the streets were still quiet — the city half-asleep.
At the gate, the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon. Different guards stood watch this morning.
Without a word, Twig flipped two silver coins toward the nearest soldier.
"Safe travels," the man said, stepping aside as the gates opened.
Twig guided the horse across the bridge. Midway, he glanced toward the horizon — and there they were, faint glowing markers hovering in the distance: Jenny and Aron.
"There you are," he murmured.
He loosened the reins, and the horse responded with energy, breaking into a gallop. The other two followed, their hooves striking rhythm in perfect unison.
Twig adjusted his posture, guiding them with practiced ease — saving their breath on the flats, pushing harder on the climbs.
Within minutes, the trio was nothing but a blur against the dawn-lit road.
And to the guards standing on Riverrun's walls, the mysterious merchant boy vanished from sight as swiftly and silently just like the wind itself.