"Eh, on yer own tonight, Kelghar?" Duncan asked as Kelghar set a tankard of ale on the table and sat down on the bench opposite him.

"Yeh," Kelghar rumbled in response. "The tree-hugger is off meditating in the park outside the Blacklake District and yer niece is off doing somethin' shady with that demoness which apparently doesn't require my bull in a pottery shop touch."

"Were ye supposed to be somewhere else?" Duncan asked.

"Nah, hangin' around with them monks got a wee bit too boring for me. Figured I'd come back here and watch the fights with a pint in me hand. Can't think of a better way to spend an evenin'… apart from actually bein' part of the brawl, that is." His comment got a smile out of the Innkeeper.

"Yer not a Harbourman," Duncan began, tentatively, "so where'd ye meet my niece, if ye don't mind me askin'?" He'd barely had time to talk to his niece the past few days, let alone have a conversation with her companions. He wanted to know more about them all, especially his niece, and the best way to find out about was to get a chance to talk to them all one on one.

"Funny thing, that," Kelghar snorted, "would you believe we met in a bar brawl?"

"Ye were fightin' my niece in a bar?" Duncan's response came out in a strangled growl and Kelghar held a hand up to stop him from getting out of his seat.

"No, not at all," he gestured for Duncan to hold his horses for a moment, "the little spitfire jumped right into the middle of my fight like I needed the help!" The dwarf's voice said it all. "I mean, did it look like I couldn't handle three young thugs?"

"So which bar was this? The one in West Harbour?"

"No, The Weepin' Willow Inn. It's on the road from the Mere to Highcliff. There used to be a village there at one time. I heard it was destroyed during that last rampage of the King of Shadows."

"Aye," Duncan answered softly, "there was a village there. It was called Willowmere. Quaint little place, it was, and one hell of a bard played there twice a year. Ah, but she'd the voice of an angel and, by god, her mastery of the harp could make a grown man weep…" Duncan trailed off as his mind's eye conjured up a memory from the past.

"Knew the place well then, did ye?" Kelghar observed a moment later when Duncan shook himself out of his remembrances.

"I did. Do ye know where the inn got its new name from?"

"I think I do now," Kelghar raised his tankard and knocked it against Duncan's causing the liquid to slosh around.

"Here's to the memory of times past, of places past, and most of all, of people past." Duncan toasted before slamming back the entirety of what was in his cup.

"Hey," the shrill and petulant voice of Neeshka cut through the tavern as the door of The Sunken Flagon opened, "that's not fair, I earned that coin. Give it back, it's mine!"

"Fine, have it," came the exasperated response from his niece, "I only wanted to take a look at it because it's got some interesting markings on it."

The maudlin mood and conversational intimacy between the dwarf and half-elf was now broken, but at least Duncan knew more about his foster-kin than he had before.