"Mommy! Look!"

Sheryn gave a long-suffering sigh and turned around. "What is it, Tamla?"

"Tom's back!" The little girl had balanced herself precariously atop a wooden chair and was jabbing the dusty window with a chubby finger.

With a smile that echoed some of her daughter's excitement, Sheryn told Tamla she could go out and see the man. Tamla squealed and bounded out the open door, her arms outstretched as if already preparing herself for the hug that was inevitable, whether Thomas wanted it or not.

Turning back to her washing, Sheryn gave a small chuckle. Tamla might technically be fatherless, but in some way or another, Brill's unofficial travelling merchant had also become the little girl's unofficial father figure. He wasn't a bad one, either, if a little young; her only real concern was that he might instil his natural wanderlust into her daughter. But then, if Tamla could take care of herself as well as Thomas when she grew up, there wasn't too much to worry about.

The final clean bowl was added to the pile with a soft chink. Sheryn took off her apron, wiping her soapy hands on it as she did so, before putting it down on the table and walking out the door into the cool afternoon.

Indeed, Thomas had arrived back in Brill, and as always it was to quite the reception. He was leaning against the front edge of his wagon, talking earnestly with Abigail Shiel, the local supplier of general goods (although she did almost none of the actual supplying - everyone knew that Thomas brought everything worth selling into town, but they all let her believe she was providing a commendable service nonetheless). The four children of the village sat around, draped over him in various uncomfortable-looking positions, waiting eagerly for a break in the adult conversation. Tamla was propped against his shoulder, steadying herself by holding a clump of the man's blond hair in her fist. Sheryn winced sympathetically. He was such a patient man.

"Thomas Arlento," she said loudly when Abigail stepped away, hoping to get in before the children got too loud with their shouts for attention. The man turned and grinned widely.

"Sherry! How do you like my delivery?" He gestured grandly to the contents of the wagon.

Tamla gave Thomas a little pinch on the cheek, telling him off for calling her mother that name she hated so much, but for once Sheryn wasn't paying enough attention to care. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it before. Grain! And a lot of it! She was thrilled. The local crops had failed this season, and the citizens of Brill had begun to feel the pressure. If crops everywhere had failed, they were going to be in for a long and hungry winter. What a stroke of luck that Andorhal, at least, had been able to provide.

"Oh, Tom! It's wonderful! You're a hero!" she told him happily, beaming at the young man. He merely smiled his cocky smile in return before turning to look at a little boy that had been whispering in his ear, an expression of exaggerated surprise on his face.

A small crowd was beginning to form around the back of the wagon, and Sheryn moved to join them. Jamie Nore was already filling sacks with the grain, causing dust to fly up in clouds. She coughed a little, but continued with the sort of fervour that only the administrator's assistant could possibly know how to muster. The energetic young Abe Winters dragged his pretty new wife up the side of the wagon and onto the top of the pile of grain beside him. Oliver Dwor picked a dead crow off the grain between his thumb and forefinger, grimacing while Rand Rhobart stood by, cackling at the sight of his friend's disgust. Sheryn could hear the laughter of children coming from the other side of the wagon.

They were saved.

-----

Thomas may have brought grain and saved Brill, but in Tamla's mind there was only one absolutely best thing about the merchant's regular visits to town: the story fire.

Music drifted through the chilly night air as Sheryn walked across the dirt road that ran north-south through the town, and she cheerfully hummed along with the tune. In her arms she held her contribution to tonight's feast; the smells of newly baked bread and fresh cut fruit wafted enticingly through the cloth she had draped over the platter. She was in a very good mood. Feasts were a rare thing in Brill, since the local produce tended to focus more on less sustaining foods such as meats and fruits and cheeses. The prospect of good food and good stories around a warm fire was most welcoming. Tamla was going to be thrilled tonight.

Sheryn rounded the corner behind the town hall and found herself suddenly bathed in light. It looked like every one of the townsfolk had gathered around the bonfire. She saw that a small circle of adolescents had congregated a short way off, and she chuckled to herself. They wouldn't be going too far tonight. Not when Thomas was here to spin his tales.

As she approached the fire, the music grew louder. Mr. and Mrs. Winters were the source; he was distractedly shaking a can full of rice, setting a lazy beat for his young wife, who was playing the fiddle with much more purpose and feeling. Sheryn joined the circle, sitting herself between Rand and Coleman, and placed her plate of bread and fruit by the fire. The wind shifted regularly, blowing smoke mingled with the scents of cold meat and cheese every which way.

For hours they chatted and sung, feasting on breads and pastries enveloping all sorts of delicious fillings. By the time the plates and cups grew empty, they had all eaten and drunk more than their fill. Exhaustion was creeping up on them visibly, and the fire was burning low. The children sat around Thomas' feet - it seemed like they would grow on to him permanently soon - and attempted to throw scraps into the man's open mouth, though they missed so often (to such uproarious laughter) that Sheryn wasn't certain they were trying to hit their target at all.

Evidently deciding that he would lose an eye if this weren't stopped soon, he sat up and said something to the children. They all shuffled back a few inches as he stood and addressed the now quietly drowsy townsfolk.

"There was once a gracious elf-lord," he began in a clear voice, without preamble, "who ruled the great kingdom of Quel'thalas. He was a mighty king who led his people with honour against the vicious and terrible trolls that lived in the forests, feeding on maggots and dirt and slaughtering foolhardy folk who dared wander past the towering silver city gates.

"He was indeed a great king, but he was also proud. And so, when the time came for him to choose a queen to stand and rule by his side, he held an event. All the maidens in the land were to gather just inside the city gates, near the magical fountain from which all elves drew their arcane powers. He would try them all as he saw fit. Those who failed would be banished to the forest, doomed to become supper for the hideous and very hungry trolls. The one who succeeded would be his queen.

"Now, the fairest maiden in the land was named Imaen, which in the ancient elvish language means 'grace'. Her hair was long and spun of gold and her skin was pure like cream. She knew that she was going to succeed in this trial, but she was not glad - she could see the elf-lord for his pride, while her friends only saw him for his power. Knowing that to flee would mean certain death from the trolls beyond the gates, she decided to hide.

"In the dead of night, on the eve of the event, Imaen went down to the fountain by the gates. She took her father's sword, cut off her hair, and let the locks of spun gold fall into the enchanted water. She then used the arcane magic of her people to disguise herself as a man."

Thomas paused here, swaying a little on his feet. Sheryn frowned; it appeared he had drunk a little too much wine. It was not a problem, truly - the children were all asleep on the ground - but it was terribly unlike him.

"He... the elf-lord woke up... The next day was..."

And with that, Thomas collapsed.

Mrs. Winters gave a small yelp, covering her mouth in delicate astonishment, and there were a few gasps and murmurs as a several townsfolk rushed over to aid the merchant. Sheryn closed the distance quickly before lifting him up from beneath his arms. Jamie determinedly took the ankles and helped to carry him back to Sheryn's house where a spare bed lay, readily made. This was, after all, where Thomas usually stayed when he was passing through.

With a few hurried mutterings about keeping the townsfolk calm and happy, the assistant administrator fled the house. Ignoring her, Sheryn leaned over and tucked in the young merchant. Almost out of habit, she brought her hand up to feel his forehead. She was alarmed to find that his skin was cold and clammy. Frowning, she stared at him. Perhaps he was ill, rather than drunk.

A stifled yawn from the door caught her attention. "Right," she said firmly, straightening as she spoke, "time for bed, missy."

Tamla made a small whine of protest, but was cut off by another monstrous yawn. Sheryn guided her daughter into bed, tucked her in, gave her a kiss on the forehead and doused the lamp. In darkness, she undressed and found her own bed. Despite the nagging worry in the back of her mind for Thomas, she soon succumbed to her exhaustion and slept.