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"So, this is the Friendly Arm Inn? Doesn't look like much." Imoen looked around and wrinkled her nose, "Reminds me of home."
"Child," Gorion began tiredly, ignoring Jaheria's hardening look.
"Smells like it too." She sighed loudly, and flopped onto a rickety stool, "I'm hungry." The girl announced, glancing around for any persons of interest. She wasn't disappointed.
"Imoen," Jaheria intervened, "shall we see if the bathes are ready?"
Gorion shot her a grateful smile.
"Y-You're not," Khalid offered quietly from the side as Imoen darted up the stairs, Jaheira trying to rein her in.
Chuckling Gorion wondered, "Am I that obvious?"
"Y-you're no older than when we last v-visited."
"I feel it. Did I make the right choice?"
"It is u-unlike you to question y-yourself, my friend."
"You're right. Still…"
"L-let's get a drink."
There was a low crash; Gorion groaned silently. Khalid winced in sympathy and clapped his old mentor's shoulder.
"J-Jaheira will s-set her straight. You'll see."
There was another crash.
Prudently, Khalid led him to a table and signalled the tavern wench for ale. Gorion buried his face in his hands. He should have taken a more active role in her upbringing, but not everybody was cut out for a life of solace, contemplation and study, least of all a young girl…
"Imoen!" Jaheria's voice cut through the floorboards above them.
"What? He tried to peek! Dirty, perverted old gnome!"
At least, Gorion decided, Imoen's idioms were better since he had taken to tutoring her in the Art…
In an unobtrusive corner, a young man twitched as he raised his ale.