Out in the Cold

There was only one way to keep her quiet, and it was going to cost us.

"Come on! I'll take ya! I'll take ya all!"

"Come on Sif. Beer. Now."

"Get off me! It's my time! My moment!"

Like I said, it would cost us. Six copper pieces in all. Because if I was going to get Sif to drink, I needed to take part in it as well and at least offer Tisaren one, even if she'd never drink it.

"You haven't heard the last of me! I'll be back!"

Poor Sif. I was carrying her across the tavern. And all the patrons on the other side of it could jeer.

Things were bad in the White March. A harsh winter, a lack of food, and squabbles between the dwarves and humans living in and around it weren't helping matters. Tisaren and I had agreed to travel with Sif to help her fellow rangers.

"You'll pay for this Tomas!"

"I'm sure I will," I said, putting Sif down on a seat at our table and going to get something to calm the dwarf down. "Just pay me back after you've had your fill."

It was a short-term solution. As I said, times were tough in the March, and that included the amount of wolves that were roaming around, many of them as hungry and desperate as the humans and dwarfs that inhabited the land. A case in point were the adventurers who we'd seen had taken credit for a wolf that Sif had managed to injure with her bow before it scampered off. Sif never forgot the sight of one of her own arrows. And as I'd come to learn, she never forgot a grudge either.

Taking the trio of pints over to our table, I just hoped that my insult to her honour or whatnot wouldn't enter grudge territory. And hey, with any luck, she'd forget about the insult altogether. Certainly she was willing to take the beer at least and-

"This beer's weak."

…and it was now clear that grudge territory was coming nearer and nearer. The laughter on the other side of the tavern increased, as if to mock me.

"Well, try to enjoy it," I said. "Cost me a fair amount of copper you know."

"Cost us," Tisaren murmured.

My gaze narrowed. It was a bit rich coming from her when she wasn't even drinking the damn thing.

If the gods controlled our destinies as some believed, I had to wonder what they had planned for me. They'd brought me to the White March, to the far east of the known world. They'd paired me with two companions – Sif, tanned skin, dark haired, short, loud and as tonight had shown, always ready to start a fight. And Tisaren – an elf, fair haired, fair skinned, a practitioner of magic, and always with a book of some kind. How she carried so many I didn't know. Maybe she bought them as we drifted from town to town. It would explain why our funds seemed to diminish so rapidly.

I watched as Sif thumped her mug down on the table with a heavy thud. If the beer had cooled her frustration at all, there was no sign of it. She went to open her mouth.

"Here," Tisaren said, sliding over her own mug with one hand while holding her book with the other. "Have mine."

"I don't need charity," Sif grunted.

"Just drink it," I murmured.

Sif glared at me, making it clear that I'd indeed entered grudge territory. It wasn't helped when, as she lifted the mug to her lips with one hand, she took out her dagger with the other, pointing the blade against the wood of the table. Fiddling with it…

This wasn't going well. We were low on funds. Winter had come, and travel would be difficult if not outright impossible over the next few months. We could get some copper for the odd wolf we brought down, but if today was any indication, there were too many people pursuing the same idea. Involuntarily, I let out a shiver – a fire was crackling away, but little of its warmth was reaching me.

"Careful Tommy," Sif said, looking up from her pint. "You'll catch a cold if you're not careful."

"Thanks for your concern," I grunted. I turned away, looking at Tisaren. Scantily dressed as always…as all female elves seemed to do for some reason.

"Aren't you cold?" I asked.

"No."

I sighed. The gods definitely had a sense of humour, creating both Men and elves. It was as if they wanted humans to realize that there'd always be people better looking than them or something.

Maybe there's a wench here…

I glanced around the tavern. How much would it take to get some extra warmth in a bed? How much-

"Don't even think about it Tom."

My gaze returned to Tisaren. "Think about what?" I asked.

The elf looked up from her book.

"You're thinking of getting a whore," she said, her voice as impassive as usual. "You're cold, you want warmth, and you're thinking that it would be worth the copper that ends in the whore's teats come morning's end."

"And that bothers you?"

"Since we'll likely be sharing the same room? Yes. Yes it does."

I looked over at Sif for support. No such luck. She'd gone back to the bartender, getting another pint for herself. Maybe I could get out of grudge territory. Maybe if Sif got drunk enough, I could…

…could forget about that entirely as she ordered yet another pint for herself and seemed to welcome some burly dwarf to her side.

Sighing, I turned back to my own beer.

It would be a long night.

A/N

This stemmed from a challenge to write a story beginning with "There was only one way to keep her quiet, and it was going to cost us." And...that's about it.