Inside of the tavern, the scene was much the same as when Marceline had left it two weeks prior. The old man who had unknowingly given her the tip about the castle was sitting amongst friends, telling more tales.
She sat down at the bar a bit harder than she had meant to.
“How’s the leg?” The bartender asked.
She looked at him and smiled.
“It’s healing. Not as bad as it looked.”
“I hear you’ve been on quite the adventure up to Castle Grey. Even got yourself a nice sword out of it.” He shifted from side to side, attempting to see if the sword was anywhere on her body.
Noticing his search, she responded: “Yes. I got a pretty good price for it too.”
“You fenced it?” He asked, puzzled.
“Yes. I have no use for such a cumbersome tool. I’ve got all I need already.” She patted the outside of her coat where her sword was.
The bartender chuckled and started pouring her a mug of Mead.
“Does this mean this’ll be the last I’ll see of you until next spring?”
“I think it does my good man…I think it does.”
“In that case,” he said as the froth reached the top of the mug, “this one’s on the house.”
He slid the mug in front of her.
“Until next spring. May the Gods illuminate your path Marceline.”
Raising her mug, she replied, “Aeternum illuminatum.”
As she drank her mead, their eyes met for a long period of time. She had known this man for half of her halftime. She knew every scar on his face but didn’t know his name. Breaking their gaze, she looked down into the amber liquid and sighed. She’d be home soon and wouldn’t have to think about nameless bartenders or murderous books until the frost broke again.
Behind her, the band began to play. Their strings resonated around the room. Marceline turned around to see a few patrons standing up, preparing for the first drinking song of the eve. She sipped her Mead and watched the tavern spill over with boisterous gaiety. The fire crackled and churned with a violent charisma as someone threw a log on it.
Outside, the first snow began to fall.
