Though he would never have admitted it out loud, Wolfram von Bielefeld… was scared.

The world was such a big place! Certainly he'd gone out and about in it a myriad of times, but… never alone. He'd always had one of his brothers with him, or his personal guard, or someone. But bringing those people on this journey would have implied, somehow, that he would be going back. And Wolfram was never going back.

It had been an impetuous decision. After several minutes of kneeling on the floor and shuddering after his final talk with Yuuri, Wolfram had decided it would be best for everyone if he just… went away. So he had packed a few things, snuck down to the stables, gotten a horse -- he couldn't take his own, much to his regret, but the white stallion was too easily recognizable -- and ridden off into the night. He had paused only once, on the top of a ridge outside the city, to look back towards the castle. His heart squeezed as, from memory, he located the window of the room he had once shared with the king. Yuuri…

That had been five days ago. Wolfram had been traveling steadily, though there were times when he would regret his rash choice. He missed his bed back at Blood Pledge Castle, with its soft pillows and warm blankets, and Yuuri sleeping peacefully beside him. But his resolve would strengthen itself the moment that thought would enter his head. There was no bed for him there anymore. Weller was in it now.

Wolfram shook himself from his dark thoughts to take stock of his surroundings. An hour or so ago he had crossed the border into his mother's home province of Spitzberg. The blonde knew the area, and he thought he could create a decent life here, as long as he was careful to steer clear of his uncle and his cronies.

There was a village just down the road; he could see the smoke rising above the trees that blocked his direct line of sight. Perhaps he could settle down there. It was an out of the way place, and Wolfram had been careful to dress in civilian clothing, so it was unlikely he would be recognized as the lady Cecilie's youngest son. Dragging his horse away from where it had begun to crop at the grass beside the road, the young noble continued on.

The village was tiny, with only a couple dozen houses at most, but it seemed an open, friendly place that was doing well for itself way out here in the backwaters of Spitzberg. Wolfram paused outside what looked like an inn for just a moment, working up his nerve, before he finally dismounted, tying his gelding and going inside.

It was early afternoon, and the inn was fairly empty. The owner, a red-headed, bearded man in his forties, stood behind the bar, wiping a glass and watching the beautiful boy that had just walked in. He mused to himself that the lad carried himself like a noble, despite the fact that the expression in his green eyes was like that of a skittish deer ready to bolt at the slightest noise. When the youngster simply continued to stand in the doorway, as if unsure what to do next, the man called out to him. "Hey, boy, you're blocking the door! Hurry up and sit down."

The blonde started, opening his mouth as if to respond. But then he seemed to catch himself just in time and snapped his mouth shut, moving out of the door and dropping onto a stool near the end of the bar. The innkeeper wandered down towards him, curious. What was a boy with those looks and that bearing doing in a place like this?

"Is there anything I can get for you, lad?"

"Er…" There was that skittish deer look again. The man smiled.

"On your own for the first time, hm?" he asked shrewdly. Another little jump from the boy, before he nodded.

"I'm… I'm looking for a place to stay," he murmured, ducking his head. "And… a… job…" He said it as if he'd never had a "job" in his life. Now the innkeeper was truly intrigued.

"Well, I've got a room I could offer you, and you could pay for it by helping me around here." The boy looked up swiftly, and the man smiled. "My name is Berrin. What's yours, lad?"

The youngster hesitated just a split-second too long, telling Berrin he was making up a name on the spot. "Ahren." The kind innkeeper didn't call him on it.

"Well, Ahren, if you've never worked in an inn before, this is going to take some getting used to. But don't worry, I'll help you through it, and so will Tabbert, my son." Berrin gestured to the slender, brown-haired boy who stood nearby, smiling shyly at the blonde newcomer, who blinked as if he wasn't sure what to make of it. "He'll show you to your room," Berrin continued, returning to his glass cleaning. "Once you've settled in, come back down here, and we'll get you started."

Ahren nodded. "Th-thank you…" Carefully he stood and followed Tabbert to the back and up the stairs. Berrin watched them go, a thoughtful expression crossing his ruddy features. It must have been a big thing indeed, young noble, to make you run so far from home…

AN: You know, I hate putting these things here, but I just wanted clarify. . No, Berrin does not know who Wolfram -- or "Ahren" -- really is, or even if he really is a noble. He's just picking up all the little unconscious signs from Wolfram and connecting the dots.

Also, thank you so much, everyone, for all your positive reviews! You're making this thing a joy to finish!