This is something I wrote quickly tonight. I plan to flesh out the back story, especially his estrangement from Mat, in future chapters. In fact, I see that fifteen year timespan as central to understanding who Olver has become. Be gentle please!
This looks like a good inn, the man thought. It's out of the way, a little dingy, and likely filled with potential marks, not to mention one or two attractive serving girls. The man, coated in layers of grim from weeks on the road, motioned his horse off to the side, tossed the reins of his horse to an awaiting stable boy.
"Rub him down and give him extra oats," the man tersely ordered the lad. Flipping a copper to the stable hand, he walked up the steps and entered the brightly lit common room.
He scanned the room quickly, sizing up its occupants. The room itself was ordinary. A medium size inn with roughly about half the tables occupied. Across from the entrance was the bar with serving girls carrying trays of food, running back and forth through a doorway in the back that must have been a kitchen the door back to what must be the kitchen. Directly to his right, along the far wall, near the stairs leading to the guest rooms, a fire blazed trying, successfully, to take the worst of the winter's chill from the room. To his left was an elevated stage occupied by a man with a harp and the telltale multicolored cloak drape about his shoulders. Young for a gleeman that one, the man thought to himself, and not terribly good. A novice perhaps.
It was a few hours after dusk, so many of the respectable folk had long since cleared out, leaving only what appeared to be some regulars and other customers in a state of similar disrepair from the road. A man slept dreamily slouched over a table with a tankard of ale still cupped in his hand. Two men, merchants probably given their dress, were seated at a table in the corner of the room speaking in hushed tones over wine. The majority of the inn's remaining clientele were listening with baited breath as a gleeman plucked a wooden harp that had seen better days as he wove an unfamiliar tale about Tarmon Gai'don, the Last Battle.
Alas, there were no dice games at the moment, but that would surely change as the night wore on. No Aiel either. Thankfully he saw no telltale ageless faces among the crowd either, peculiar since he was so close to Tar Valon. Perhaps his luck was changing for the better, the man thought to himself.
"Bloody Aes Sedai," he muttered as he moved toward the fireplace, away from the tone-deaf gleeman.
"Wine!," he shouted to no one in particular. "And be quick about it." Sitting down, he brushed away someone's leftover crumbs and spilled ale with the sleeve of his coat, as he tried to tune out the unharmonious strumming of the gleeman's harp.
After a few minutes a moderately attractive, serving girl with bright brown eyes and brown hair that trailed down to her waist, came back with his wine. She lacked many of the curves he appreciated on a woman, but she was pretty. He thanked her for the drink as he admired the cut of her sturdy wool dress.
"My eyes are up here," she said flatly. "Can I get you anything else?" In a tone that suggested, given his attire and his disheveled state, that she felt it was unlikely that he could afford more.
"What?...err…I didn't mean..." he said as he handed her a copper for the drink. Bloody ashes!
Never one to back down from a challenge, the man licked his palms, brushed back his unruly hair, and put on his best smile.
"I'm Olver. What's your name?" With a short sniff, and a roll of her eyes, the serving girl left Olver to drink, alone.
"Sometimes you win, sometimes not." Olver said under his breath as he took a sip of the wine.
The vintage was Andoran and quite good. If he learned anything from the time spent with Talmanes, appreciating a good wine was it. Olver turned his attention back to the gleeman who was nearing the end of his tale about Tarmon Gai'don. His fingers strummed the harp quicker and quicker, the pace of his voice matched the tempo of the harp as he reached the climax of the tale.
"The Dragon Reborn, Rand Al'Thor, embraced saidan and vanquished all the enemies on the field; smiting them down with lightning shooting out from his fingertips. Daggers of the One Power shot from his eyes. Trollocs and Darkfriends everywhere recoiled in horror as the Light was too bright for their eyes to look upon. The field of Merrilor was bathed in blood that night…"
He was no Thom, that's for certain. It had been nearly fifteen years since he had sounded the Horn of Valere. Of that night, he remembered very little, expect for the terror he felt. That never went away no matter how much ale he drank. But he had heard the tale from Talmanes and Mat so many times in the immediate aftermath to know this gleeman had gotten much of it wrong. The truth, it seemed, mattered little to the patrons of the Red Hawk who cheered loudly as the gleeman finished his tale with a flourish.
Mat. He hadn't thought of him in years, much less seen him since the night of their falling out. Too big for his britches that one. Prince of Ravens, ha! Mat had had little time for Olver as Tuon and he secured Seanchan in the political mess that had ensued following the Last Battle. He had even less time when they ruled a unified Seanchan. Mat had sent Olver to squire with Talmanes in Cairhienin several years back to learn discipline and, hopefully, earn a place in Talmanes' service. More likely, Mat simply wanted Olver out of his hair. Mat had changed since his marriage to Tuon. He was less fun, didn't dice—well, not as often as before, and…responsible. The word oozed out of his mouth with disdain. Responsible Mat Cauthon with his fine silks and army. He had refused to help Olver with his quest to avenge the death of his parents by finding the bloody Shaido that killed them. This, more than anything else, is what encouraged Olver to leave Mat for Cairhienin. He hadn't seen or spoken to Mat since then.
"Bloody Aiel," cursed Olver as he took another drink from his flagon, which to his surprise was empty.
Pounding the empty flagon on the table, Olver cried out for more wine.
"Hold your horses," yelled the innkeeper over the din of the crowd. Olver looked around. Amidst his brooding, the inn common room had filled up quite a bit. The majority of tables were now full with serving girls running around frantically trying to keep pace with the onslaught of new orders.
A little while later, the same pretty serving girl brought him his wine. As she set the wine on the table, Olver reached out to grab her hand, meeting her eyes, he fished out a silver Andoran coin. "There's more where this came from if you keep my cup full. I'll take a flagon of meat or whatever you have left too."
Reappraising Olver, the serving girl bobbed an awkward curtsey as the coin vanished somewhere within the folds of her dress. "Yes, milord." As she walked away, she casually turned her head over her shoulder, flashed a bright smile, and said, "Sheena," as she vanished into the crowd.
Smiling to himself, Olver sat up a little straighter. He may not woo women with his homely face, but with enough coin, and his best smile, Olver knew he could melt even the iciest countenance. Looking around, a group of well-dressed nobles had started up a dice game in a far corner of the inn.
As he got up to join in the game, Olver thought to himself: "perhaps this night will not be a total loss after all."
Much later, spirits up, Olver resumed his seat at his table with a coin purse much heavier than when he sat down. His food had grown cold, but that didn't matter. He'd eaten far worse. Mat may have been a lot of things, but he did teach Olver a few things about dicing. Olver didn't have Mat's luck with the dice, but he often won more than he lost. At the very least, he felt good that he relieved those young nobles of their coin in a respectable fashion instead of cutting their purse strings in the midst of this particular common room. He could have done it. It wouldn't have been difficult, he thought. But it was far preferable to win money than potentially cause a disturbance, which might cause the wrong sort of people to take notice.
Perhaps he's only a bard, Olver thought to himself. There's no way any self-respecting gleeman could be that bad. It doesn't matter, you have more coin than you came in with. It's time to see if your luck will hold. Bah! I need more wine.
He signaled Sheena who came over to refill his cup.
"What time do you leave tonight?" inquired Olver.
"As soon as these sorry lots clear the common room. Why do you ask, milord?" Shenna asked coyly.
Instead of responding, Olver stood up a quickly, albeit it shakily, grabbed Sheena by the wrist and pulled her laughingly towards the dance floor. The bard was playing a song that was familiar to Olver, "The Farmer's Daughter." He had never been a particularly great dancer, but his time with Talmanes had not been a total waste. He did learn some court etiquette, begrudgingly. Plus, his wine and winnings had put him in a much better mood.
The tune was simple enough. It was a nonsensical story about a farmer, his daughter, a highwayman, and, for some reason, a cow. The dance itself was also simple. It required two lines: one of women and the other of men facing each other. Pairs of couples would come together in the center, lock arms, twirl one way and then the other, before moving along to the next person in the line. As everyone came around to their original partner, each pair would meet once again in the center, and dance through the center of the two lines as they clapped to keep the beat.
Sheena laughed gleefully as Olver guided her through the steps, twirling her faster and faster. Sheena lit up the room with her laugh. For a moment, Olver lost himself in the dance. Indeed, with a girl in his arms, in an inn with a fat purse at his side, dancing with the beat of the crowd, his problems, his anger, his memories, and, most of all his failures which ate at his soul, faded away. All that mattered was this moment, and for a brief second, he was happy.
"Get back to work you malingering whelp!" yelled a skinny man, who must have been the innkeeper. "This isn't a Domani pleasure house. I don't pay you to carouse with our guests!"
With an apologetic look, Sheena disentangled herself from Olver arms and vanished into the kitchens. Shrugging, Olver walked back to his table, sat down, and picked up his wine, tapping his feet to the music. Perhaps this bard isn't too bad after all, Olver thought.
Looking around the room for another partner, Olver saw a young woman sitting alone smiling, clapping to the music. Olver hadn't previously noticed her; she must have entered while he danced with Sheena. Dress in a fine gown of dark blue silk, she had short brown hair, blue eyes, and the pale features of a Cairhienin. She looked the part of a noble woman, but surely no noble woman of good-standing would be caught dead in a place like this. Although he had spent time with Talmanes, he avoided court as much as possible. He didn't recognize her and she wore no insignia to identify her house.
Perhaps the daughter of a merchant or minor lord, he thought to himself? Bah! It matters little. Finishing his wine, Olver got up and moved toward the young woman, trying to brush out the worst of the wrinkles in his tunic.
"Would you care to dance?" Olver inquired as he gave the best impression of a courtly bow he could manage in his current state.
What the hell, he thought to himself, it worked earlier. Before she could reject him, Olver grabbed her by the arm, pulled her from her seat, and twirled her onto the dance floor. She didn't resist, that's a good sign Olver thought as he smiled at her. The tune was one he didn't recognize and the steps were more complicated than the previous dance. He silently cursed himself as he faltered to the unfamiliar music. Red-faced, and losing his confidence quickly, he was about to apologize to the young woman so he could make a quick escape with some dignity.
Before he could utter a word, however, the woman looked up at him with an enigmatic smile and laughed as she proceeded to lead HIM through the paces of the dance. Light! She was graceful. Each time Olver faltered, the beautiful young woman would tighten her grip on his hands, locking her piercing blue eyes with his, encouraging him to continue. If he moved the wrong way, she moved her body in such a manner that corrected his misstep without losing the rhythm of the music. Gaining confidence with each step, Olver once again led her through the dance floor. Her eyes flashed with delight as Olver improvised dance steps, adding an extra twirl here and a dip there.
All too soon the music ended. He knew he should release her but he couldn't. He held her there on the dance floor looking into those blue eyes. Shrugging, he leaned forward to kiss her. Shock replaced the smile on her lips. Quicker, and with much more strength than he thought possible, the girl pressed two hands on his chest and shoved. Before he could register what was happening, he was flying backwards through the air. He thought he saw something on her hand twinkle in the firelight.
"Blood and Bloody Ashes!" Olver yelled in shock. He landed awkwardly on a table which braced some of his fall, but as his momentum took him to the ground, he felt his head smack the ground, hard. Dazed, he reached up to touch the back of his throbbing head. As he brought his hand down, he could see it was covered in blood, his blood. "Bloody Ash…" And the world went dark.