Author's Note:

Hello, lovely humans. My name is Kementari, and it has been a very long moment since I have been active on this site, so your kindness and understanding is, as always, deeply appreciated. I'm back from extended hiatus, in part just to get back into writing after adulthood has drained the better portion of my soul, and in part because Riyria is great and deserves some fan content. So, have a drabble. There may be more. We don't make promises here. But I hope you enjoy these ramblings, and I hope you enjoy your lives. Whatever you're doing right now, I hope you can take a moment to look out a window and smile at something beautiful. Alright, enough of that. Enjoy the story, you fabulous human being.

-Kementari-

Hadrian

Tarin Vale, like most towns Hadrian Blackwater found himself visiting these days, bore a distinct aura of neglect. He had mentioned it to Royce once, trying to express the odd contradiction of a town so closely peopled bearing little to no sign of care. the vague sense of malaise he had observed in so many farming villages. Royce had just said something about people beginning to understand the pointlessness of their own existence and left it at that, as though he had somehow explained anything. Looking at the decrepit jumble of shops lining the main road of Tarin Vale, Hadrian sighed. The inn leaned perilously over the street and the alehouse sported exclusively broken windows. The only shop on the street that looked even moderately maintained was marked by a cracked sign marked by faded painting of a carriage.

"What is it now?" Royce asked.

"This place could be so nice."

"So?"

"So I just wish I could help out. Maybe straighten some door frames, replace some windows, you know. That kind of thing. We should become carpenters."

"No."

"I think we'd be good at it. I was a blacksmith, so I know how to swing a hammer. Can't imagine building houses would be much different. You tend to be weirdly good at random stuff, so I'm sure you'd be fine. We could settle down, sleep inside, eat at tables, meet people we have no intention of killing." He surveyed the pile of rotting wood disguised as a building with a smile. "We could spruce these places right up." After giving Royce a long moment to respond, an invitation which his partner failed to accept, Hadrian dismounted Millie, adjusted his three swords, and tied the horse to the post in front of the ale house. "I just feel like that would be kind of fun is all. Fixing things, I mean."

Royce secured his horse next to Hadrian's and quirked a skeptical eyebrow. "The kindest thing for most of this town would be a barrel of oil and a tinder strike."

"See? You could do that and then I could rebuild it!"

Royce squinted at him for a moment, and Hadrian grinned hopefully. The shorter man just huffed and turned away. "Sounds boring."

"Boring could be nice."

"When I get bored people get hurt."

"Now you're just being a pessimist."

"That depends on your perspective." Royce smirked and slipped through the door.

Hadrian smiled to himself as he began randomly fiddling with his saddle bags. When they had first met, Royce would have said something vaguely bloodthirsty like that and meant it. He still didn't see anything wrong with killing people who got in his way, but at least now he considered it a less desirable outcome when someone died. Hadrian wasn't sure if it was just Royce catering to his sensibilities or if the smaller man was beginning to actually see a degree of value in the lives of people he didn't know, but he appreciated the change either way.

After loitering long enough that he and Royce wouldn't be seen as entering the tavern together, Hadrian made his way through the door. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust, then approached the bar, ignoring the dark figure lurking in the corner booth. An elderly man and a young soldierly looking fellow regarded him from the bar as he approached, and he offered a friendly wave. "Hey there." He greeted, taking a seat.

The old man scooted around in his seat to face Hadrian and glanced him over with the lethargic disinterest of one who sees more than most but has mostly stopped giving a crap. "You have business here, son?"

"Just passing through, hoping to compete at Ethelred's tournament."

The young man snorted at that, leaning his elbow on the bar to see around his companion. "Good luck with that, mate. The way they're picking through the contestants for that farce, Novron himself wouldn't get on the lists." He tipped his mug toward Hadrian then emptied it with a gulp. "Name's Dalton," he lifted his chin toward his companion. "And Hob."

Ignoring the glower that Hadrian could practically feel emanating from the back of the room, Hadrian stuck out his hand, "Hadrian Blackwater."

"Well, Hadrian," Hob said, "if you want to compete at Aquesta, your best bet is joining some contestant's retinue, or revealing yourself as the long-lost heir of one royal house or another. Them's a traditional bunch up there, and if your great-grand-daddy didn't compete, odds are you won't either. Still, no harm in trying, eh?" He slapped Hadrian on the shoulder then stood and walked around the bar. "But I'm guessing you didn't come in here to trade gossip. What can I getcha?"

Hadrian raised an eyebrow but ordered a beer. He had thought it odd that there had been no bartender in sight when he first entered, but the tavern was nearly empty and this didn't seem like the type of establishment to stand on ceremony. Hob and Dalton were good company; seemed keen to share all the latest news from Aquesta, and listened with interest to Hadrian's news from Glouston, which he and Royce had just visited, much to the betterment of their purses and the detriment of a certain earl's relationship with his creditors. Apparently, Hob bought hoppes for his ale through a supplier in Glouston, and claimed that knowing random facts such a what was for sale in the market, what taverns were selling what beer, and even how a couple specific nobles spent their spare time aided him in some complicated calculation that allowed him to predict the price of ale in the coming months. This made no sense to Hadrian, and he was half certain it made no sense to Hob either, but he nodded and smiled regardless. Partway through his fourth ale, listening to Dalton animatedly recount his disastrous first attempt at courtship, Hadrian noticed Royce slip silently out the door.

Following Hadrian's gaze, Dalton trailed off and shivered. "Who was that spectre? He been here this whole time?"

Hob nodded grimly, shooting Hadrian a concerned glance. "Aye, a foul look to that one. Can't say I've ever seen him before."

He glanced at Hadrian and he shrugged noncommittally. "Can't say I noticed him until now, but I suppose he's the same right to rest from the sun as any other. Speaking of, I'd best be moving on myself if I'm to reach Aquesta by sundown."

"Aye, recon you're right," Hob said, glancing uncomfortably at the door. "Wouldn't harm you to have bite of food first, though. Set you up for the ride, maybe give that fellow a bit of time to move off." He moved behind the bar as he said this, dusting off his hands on his apron. "Don't like to be judging nobody, but there's been talk about elves going around, and its best to steer clear of folk like that."

Hadrian glanced at Dalton, and the young man nodded earnestly.

"A good meal wouldn't go amiss, but then I really need to get going."

Hob smiled in relief, and soon Hadrian found himself polishing off a simple but surprisingly tasty platter of mutton and potatoes. After he's paid and wished the men well, he hurried on his way, hoping Royce had waited for him. Twice already the man had just ridden off and assumed Hadrian would be able to find him. Needless to say, this faith was almost entirely unfounded and the thief would end up circling back to collect his errant partner. It was embarrassing.

Outside the tavern, Millie waited patiently, a stray dog, scarcely more than a pup, sniffing at her hooves. Hadrian scratched the mutt behind its ears, then gently set out of the road so he could mount without worrying about squishing the little thing. Of course, the dog just came bounding back and was instantly underfoot again. "Hey now, little guy," Hadrian said, swinging into the saddle and watching with some consternation as the dog ran directly underneath Millie. "How about this, huh?" He pulled a piece of hard bread from his pouch, and after waving it enticingly to catch the dog's attention, he tossed it down the street. The dog distracted, he took off toward Aquesta.

The puppy had been following for nearly a mile now, its spindly legs trotting over the uneven road, eyes trained hopefully on Hadrian. "You should look at him, Royce. He's so cute."

Royce ignored him, scanning the road ahead in his familiar pattern.

"He's been following for so long, I'm surprised his little legs don't get tired. And his hair is so curly, I didn't know there were dogs with curly hair. I wonder if his mom misses him."

"She's probably glad for one less mongrel to feed."

"She's probably so worried."

"She might be dead."

Hadrian glanced up at that. "He might be an orphan puppy? Royce, we should keep him."

Royce pulled his hood up.

Shrugging, Hadrian turned in his saddle to watch the puppy. It was panting widely, making it look like it was smiling, its shaggy tail wagging behind it. "You look like a Spot. How do you like that?"

The dog continued to wag.

"Good. You're a good boy, Spot." Pulling Millie to a stop, he swung to the ground and knelt, holding out a piece of salted pork. "Hungry, boy?"

The pup stopped for a moment before approaching, tail wagging hesitantly. It sniffed around his hand, then grabbed the pork and retreated a few steps to chew it.

"That's a good boy, Spot. What a good boy."

"You just gave a stray dog your food."

Hadrian glanced up at where Royce sat his horse a few paces up the road. The man's face was obscured by his hood, but his flat tone spoke volumes. "Now we'll never be rid of it."

"Of course not. He can be our pet, and he can follow us around and keep us company. Maybe we can even teach him to attack bad guys!"

"That's why I have you."

Hadrian just grinned. "You're being crabby. Just wait. You'll love him."

"I hate puppies."

Hadrian stopped in the process of stroking the puppy's long ears. "No, you don't. Nobody hates puppies. I'm pretty sure it's actually impossible to hate puppies. Just look at him."

As if to prove his point, the puppy shifted his attention toward Royce, cocking its head and wagging its tail harder than ever.

Royce frowned in distaste.

"How could you possibly hate that?"

"It's stupid, serves no useful purpose, and tastes bad."

Hadrian gaped. "You didn't…" He looked down at Spot's hopeful face. "You wouldn't. Would you?"

"Depends on how long the pork lasts." Royce said, then he urged his horse forward again and continued down the road.

Hadrian stared after Royce for a moment, then glanced down at the puppy, which had decided to roll so its back was scratching against Hadrian's boots, its furry stomach exposed. "You know, I really wish I could know he was joking." Stuffing the rest of his pork regretfully into his satchel, he stood and swung back onto Millie. "It's okay, little buddy. He'll come around." With that, he kicked his horse into a trot, hurrying to catch up with his partner.