#vynspringevent

Vendil had a love-hate relationship with transitional periods. They were always full of uncertainty, chaos, and destruction. Sure, he ushered in his own transfer of power from one egomaniac to another but that didn’t mean he liked it. Order and structure were his bread and butter.

Yet on the other hand, three o’clock was always the best time to visit the tavern. It wasn’t the most inviting scene to walk into it but there was something to be said about the cool crisp privacy of a near empty bar. There was just him, a few washed out old men, and Huberto. The latter knew that he was the one to help overthrow Barateon, Vendil could see it in his eyes, but the man stuck to his routine. Vendil ordered a glass of beer and a bowl of unsalted peanuts, Huberto nodded before delivering the order, and Vendil paid upfront. Neither one gossiped about the other. It was balanced and even-handed -- an exchange at its simplest.

The sound of boots shouldn’t have broken him out of his stupor. Occasionally travellers would wander in to scarf a hot meal before passing out in a room after all. They barely paid attention to the innkeeper much less him. With that said, his head still snapped up at the jingling.

It was a steady lulling noise. A single heavy boot step then that faint jingle. Almost comforting in a way as he blinked at the figure strolling through the door. The darkness by the threshold gave him the visage of a spectre but the candlelight revealed a man cloaked in soft browns and greens with a wide brimmed hat crowning his mop of red curls.

Huberto glanced up from handing a customer a plate of smoked sprat with an astonished look. It was quickly gone with a blink and a small cough into his elbow.

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I get you anything?” he asked, keeping his eyes directly on the patron before him. Vendil didn’t know the innkeeper well but he could spot a nervous man a mile away.

“I’d like a cup of wine and a bowl of whatever you’ve got over the hearth.” the man, now revealed to be Aeterna, replied. With his hat under his arm, the man’s identity was immediately determined, forcing Vendil to take a long sip of his beer. So much for a relaxing day.

“Potato soup?”

“That’ll do. Just one bowl please.”

As he waited, the man leaned against the counter and scratched at his beard, looking everywhere except where Vendil was lounging. However, the moment the small tray filled with hot soup and wine was given, his head snapped towards his direction with a sunny toothy grin. His teeth were remarkably straight despite the coffee stains.

“Well, well… if it ain’t the lava hopping asshole.”

Huberto’s eyes widened for a brief moment before clearing his throat and focusing on cleaning the dishes in a tub near the hearth. Vendil just sighed, swallowing his bite of peanuts.

“Vendil.” he replied curtly.

“I know. I’m poking fun at you. Still gives me a giggle from time to time.” he drawled out, taking the seat across from the other man. He could only sigh as Arthan let out a rusty old gate chuckle.

“Why are you here?”

“Aw, why you gotta be like that? You know with Anku all a-buzz that there’s no work so I decided to crawl outta my hole. Heard that someone let ol’ Narry boy out of his cell and let him go wild. Now he’s in Erothin with his fingers up his ass while you run the show. Am I caught up?”

He opened his mouth to reply, only to shut with a clack. Arthan’s grin grew obnoxiously as he leaned back and sipped on his cup of wine. Vendil could only groan and rest his forehead against his hand as he slouched over his beer.

“Perhaps it’s… something like that.” he mumbled out, taking a long sip of his beer. Glancing down into its bottom, he briefly wondered if a second was in order. Wasn’t part of his ‘destress’ routine but neither was a mouthy Aeterna that kept grinning at him.

“Mm, I’m guessin’ by all those posters slapped on every corner that he’s taken a bunch of credit too.” he tsked, not bothering with the spoon to enjoy sipping on his soup. Vendil only grunted at that. “I wish I could say ‘I told you so’ but even I didn’t expect him not to… I dunno -- not give a shit about his partner in crime.”

His sigh could barely be heard over the crackling of the hearth and Huberto’s soup pot stirring. Arthan cocked his head to the side ever so slightly as his grin softened to a smile. “It wasn’t always like this.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“What do you mean…?

“You’re running a city for him. Now I’m making an assumption but I figure that it’s a high stress job. You’re no longer the hero that saved him but an underling that files tax reports. None of those posters even mention you. Not exactly fair and not a good sign.”

The pinch of peanuts that Vendil held quietly dropped back into the bowl as he glared. Arthan, of course, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. “Good sign of what? The city is doing relatively well considering the coup.” A wave of disgust washed over him at how weak his words felt. Suddenly he yearned for the taste of whiskey, not cheap beer.

“He’s half assing city governance to the extent that his closest friend is hiding at a bar to avoid snapping from the pressure. Imagine what’ll happen once he gets Nehrim under his belt.”

Immediately Vendil held a single finger up, earning a cocked eyebrow. “How do you even know any of this? Or are you just pulling all this out of nothing?”

“Shit, Vendil, just open your ears and walk around the market. I’ve only been in the city for three hours and a five minute smoke break by the bank told me more than I wanted to know. Vendil Auralus approved of some new guards, Vendil did such ‘n such tax reform, talk to Vendil if you got concerns. Blah, blah, blah. Not too hard to put two and two together.”

An awkward silence soon filled the room, leaving only the sound of the crackling logs in the hearth. Huberto, despite his nature, peeked over his shoulder towards them, still hunched over the dish tub. A quick wiggle of the eyebrows from Arthan made the man snap his head forward so quickly that Vendil was sure he had whiplash.

“I, uh…”

“It’s so damn obvious that it might as well slap me on the ass on the way out. I’m only telling you this because you seem to be the only one who doesn’t know. Don’t feel bad about it. No one really knows their own reputation.” Arthan’s chair creaked softly as he leaned back further like a lazy cat in the sun. Vendil simply glanced at his reflection in his glass. His face was colored piss yellow from the beer but even that unflattering shade didn’t hide the circles under his eyes or the droop of his ears. Golden eyes were unashamedly looking at him once he finally tore his gaze away.

“You’re not chickenshit so what’s the problem?”

Another sigh -- probably the millionth of that afternoon. “He murdered his girlfriend and father. Narathzul’s not exactly the most reasonable person.”

“So?”

“So…”

“Listen, I’m not exactly the most knowledgeable with history but Narathzul has a mile long track record of failing miserably. Treomar? Just look at the place. His little conquest of Inodan? He ended up getting tossed into a cell and was rotting for a thousand years. His little recent streak of luck has been less about luck and more about you.”

“He murdered his girlfriend and father.”

“I know, I know but you got leverage. You’re justified in saying something. And if he tries to pull something funny? Well, you’ve got a shield and a mean right hook, don’t you? What other options do you got left? At this point, it’s not if he’s gonna fuck you over but when. Do it on your own terms at least.” He loudly sipped on the dregs of his wine. As he did, he spotted from the corner of his eye Vendil’s face contorting into a mess of expressions -- rage, confusion, disgust, and a few unrecognizable ones. Eventually he settled on something akin to a dried out old grape -- scrunched up and quite bitter.

“All he does is pour over the Predestination and sit on his throne. I can barely get his signature much less get him to govern the city. It’s like he sees Erothin as nothing more than a stepping stone instead of a living breathing city. The people here have hopes and dreams and I can’t just ignore them.” he groaned, feeling the tightness in his chest unclench just a little.

“I get what you’re saying but the Predestination?” Arthan asked softly, leaning over the table just slightly.

“It’s a prophecy about the Shadow God or Tel'lmaltath… or whatever. Basically it’s about a god of shadow dethroning the Light-Born and restoring balance. Like all prophecies, it’s vague enough to mask the incompetence of others.” Tension yet again plucked at his chest. This is clearly private information that Narathzul entrusted to him. Focusing on Arthan’s face, he noted the tenderness the man surprisingly invoked. Concern wove itself into the man’s crow’s feet as he reclined back once more. He expected guilt to overwhelm him at the admission but it never came.

Arthan’s lips thinned as he fell silent for a moment. His eyes flickered back and forth between his lap and Vendil’s eyes. “Now that is worrying…”

“What? That he intends on killing the gods?”

“No, no. Those seven aren’t gods. Never were, never will be. Their downfall is inevitable. But what concerns me is the source of this prophecy and amount of shit Narathzul’s going to be in. For a man who spites the gods, he sure does love blindly following higher powers.”

Vendil’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched the other all but pour the rest of his now lukewarm soup down his throat. “In a hurry somewhere?” Vendil asked quietly, his voice surprisingly weak.

“I’ve still got some errands to do while there’s time left. Can’t you feel it? There’s a spring thunderstorm coming soon.” His ears twitched as he rooted around in his bag, grumbling as the various mish-mash of his pack clinked together. “Um… oh! There we go. Got a gift for you.”

“You left the king so frazzled that he forgot to properly gift you a token of the Starling’s affections.” he explained as Vendil examined the scroll. The paper felt like butter in his palms, so smooth and alien, with an even odder looking strap of leather tying it together. “A teleportation spell in case you need to head back to Anku, specially made by the old bird.”

Vendil only nodded, knowing better than to question the reasoning of Starlings. “Well, I appreciate it. I’ll have to thank him later.”

A shrug was his response as Arthan quickly plopped his hat back on his head. “The man might be gone by the time any of us get back to Anku. They’re getting ready for the ‘Grand Voyage’ and all that. Thankfully, the old bird is staying behind.”

“The king?”

“Nah, the old bird.” he clarified, not bothering to explain further as he slung his pack over his shoulder after rising to feet. Huffing, he glanced over at the innkeeper who kept himself busy with the soup. “Well, I might see you around later. Might even visit the palace for work.”

“Interested in joining Narathzul’s army?”

“Fuck no, just need the work. Narry can kiss my hairy ass.” he mumbled, rifling through his pockets to slap some coins down for the meal. “Enjoy yourself, you hear?”

“I hear.” he replied yet he didn’t receive an answer nor did he expect one. Glancing down into his beer, he huffed and began to chug. Midway through, his ears twitched at the quiet jingling that grew fainter with each step away. Almost on cue, rain began to fall upon the windows.