Chapter Text
When Simon took over ownership of the Jericho Inn on the eastern border of the kingdom, he’d expected a lot of the soldiers to take advantage of his beds and food. Maybe after a long shift, maybe on days off…
Apparently he didn’t understand how the Resistance Army worked when he planned out his business strategy. Soldiers, travelers, and locals did occasionally stop by for a meal, but since the border was closed and a war zone didn’t make for a popular tourist destination, travelers were few and far between. And locals didn’t have a need to stay somewhere different in town. So Simon focused more on serving fresh meals, but he maintained the bedrooms and kept some hopeful signs posted just in case.
Jericho wasn’t close enough to the front lines to be in danger, so Simon’s days were largely peaceful. He kept the inn maintained, tried new recipes, and spent a lot of time talking with his neighbors.
“I’ve been thinking it would be better for business if I turned the restaurant into more of a bar,” Simon mused one day to his friend North. “Or a tavern, maybe.”
“Let me know if you need a bouncer,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “You’d get more troops probably, I see loads of them down along the canal every night. You really thinking about it?”
“…I don’t know, probably not. Not unless things get really bad financially. I’m just trying to think of different ideas. Keep my options open. I don’t know, I’m keeping my head above water, but that’s all I’m doing here. I really thought I’d get more business here.”
“Yeah, you didn’t do your research, did you?” North said sympathetically. “And it’s probably gonna get worse after what happened. You heard about that, didn’t you?”
Simon looked away and wiped at a small stain on the table. “Of course I heard,” he mumbled. “I’m not that oblivious. I know you wanted to be there to help, but I’m glad you’re safe.”
The two lapsed into silence briefly. General Markus had suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the mage-prince Connor that had resulted in a great loss of life.
“Connor must be the most powerful mage we’ve ever faced,” Simon sighed. “I’ve never heard of anyone that strong. No one escapes from him.”
“Well he’s been training for that since he was born,” North muttered. “With the best mages in the world and every piece of… magic equipment money can buy. I don’t know what kind of shit they use. Wands, magic cloaks, unicorn spleens…”
Simon laughed. “I’m sure if we had access to all those unicorn spleens, we could do just as well!”
“Damn right!” North grinned, but only briefly before her face grew serious again. “No, but I hear his little brother’s worse. Or, better at magic I mean, but… he’s supposed to be a warrior too, merciless in combat, completely heartless. And like, a genius. And gigantic.”
“Does he have five heads and turn into a dragon at night?” Simon asked, his voice flat. North pushed him.
“Shut up, that’s just the rumors I’ve heard. For all I know, he’s a tiny idiot who’s completely incompetent at everything he does.”
Simon snorted and shook his head. “Seeing his brother and what he’s accomplished, I highly doubt that.”
“You need any help today?” North smirked.
Simon looked around at the empty room. “I think I can handle it, North. Thanks, though.” He never asked for her help. When she wasn’t busy she stayed and found something to do anyway, but today she took her leave of him. Simon finished wiping down the tables, stirred the curry, then started a big pot of thick, hearty noodles on the stove.
Prince Connor struck three more times in the next month, and Markus ended up in critical condition in the infirmary not far from Jericho. His father traveled from across the kingdom to be with him, though he was old and infirm himself. Simon brought a big basket of herb bread for all the patients and staff, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Markus. The general was young, probably younger than Simon, and he’d quickly gained a reputation as a fierce fighter, an inspirational leader, and a creative genius. His heterochromatic eyes were bright and alert, reminding Simon of the sea and the earth all in one powerful gaze. Powerful was the word for him, he positively radiated power. Everyone who heard him speak probably fell in love with him a little. Simon wasn’t surprised that he’d rallied so many followers, that he was holding his own and succeeding more than anyone else ever had against the invading armies, despite Connor’s clear expertise.
But the enemy queen was aging, and before long she called Connor back from the front lines to train to replace her before it was too late. And then rumors of the younger brother began to surface.
They all matched what North had said – a giant of a man, silent, relentless, cold. Adept at both magic and all types of fighting. Better than his older brother, possibly more skilled than even the queen in her prime, with the strength of 200,000 ordinary soldiers. He could set a house ablaze from a mile away, he could open great gaping holes in the Earth, he could cause rivers to stop flowing entirely and block out the sun itself. Where he went he brought only death and destruction. He seemed to have no name, but was known only as Reaver. No one Simon spoke to had ever seen him in person, but he apparently killed everyone in his path without mercy or regard for their affiliation. While Connor would learn diplomacy and politics, his younger brother would have no need of that.
And then he showed up to a battle not far away, tall and pale and terrifying, and he cut down half the troops standing against him single-handedly before vanishing into a pillar of flame.
He was out there somewhere, no one knew where. A self-enforced curfew was immediately implemented around town, and no one went outside alone. Not that that made them safe, because Reaver must be able to just appear wherever he wanted to. He could suddenly be in the armory, he could be in your grandmother’s bedroom, he could be hiding in your neighbor’s attic and kill you in the night and no one would know.
Privately, Simon thought people were going a little overboard. He was probably lurking in some abandoned tower deep in the mountains, plotting his next move. A threat, certainly, but not an immediate one. Not one who would waste time on common people going about their lives.
Simon was taking the scrap bucket out to the compost pile behind the inn one evening when he heard a noise. There was a big stray tomcat who came by now and then, and Simon called out to him softly as he dumped his bucket on the pile.
“Sorry I don’t have anything you’d be interested in right now, but if you’ll wait a minute, I cooked up the chicken livers just for you.”
There was another soft noise – it didn’t quite sound like the cat, who normally sauntered out and yowled for Simon’s immediate attention. Maybe it was a dog, they came by now and then too. Either way, he’d promised chicken and he went back inside to fetch the bits of liver he’d set aside. The warm air from the kitchen was thick with the scent of fresh bread and chicken stew, ready to serve to the dinner crowd.
“Here you go,” Simon murmured. There was no sound, and no animal showed itself. “…Are you still there? I brought you food like I said I would. Are you… new here? Don’t be shy, I won’t hurt you. Come on out.”
As he clicked his tongue softly, a shadow lengthened and straightened up. Simon immediately stopped. A tall, cloaked figure stood by the small chicken coop. Their clothes were ragged and dirty, and they clutched the corner of the coop.
“Ah – I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. I… thought you were a cat.” Simon laughed self-consciously. “What can I do for you?”
The figure’s face was obscured by a large hood, and they didn’t move much, but Simon noted the hunching of their shoulders and slight withdrawal of the rest of their body.
“It’s all right,” he said, softening. “You’re perfectly safe here. I won’t harm you. My name is Simon, I run the Jericho Inn.”
The figure drew back a little more.
“It’s… getting colder,” Simon murmured. “Have you been out here for long?”
The shoulders rose a little more.
“Come inside,” Simon coaxed. “It’s warm, and I’ve got good stew and fresh bread for dinner. I also have rooms for the night if you’d like. I can make you a very good deal, I rarely have any lodgers.”
The front door opened in the distance, and the figure took a quick step back. Simon did too.
“All right, you don’t have to come in,” he murmured. “I have to go serve customers up front – it’s just me here right now. But I’ll leave the back door unlocked, and when I get a minute I’ll set out some stew and bread for you. All right? I won’t… make you stay, or ask anything of you. I’ll have extra anyway, there haven’t been many customers lately. Just… it’ll be a cold night. And you look like you need somewhere to go.”
He turned then and went back inside without a second glance, closing the door to keep the heat in but making sure it was unlocked. Then he hurried out to the dining area and began taking orders.
Because money was tight, Simon couldn’t afford to hire anyone to help him. His brother had helped get things set up in the beginning, but then he’d left to get away from the front lines. Simon couldn’t blame him for that. Sometimes North helped out if he was really slammed when she came by, and he always gave her a free meal, but that was all he could manage. So having low-traffic days was easier to manage, but it also meant he would have to really scrape to get by. With the current paranoia about the Reaver prince out there, he would probably have to sell the inn by the end of the month. If he could find anyone to buy it.
During a brief lull, Simon ducked into the kitchen and scooped up a quick bowl of stew, cut a thick slice of bread, and slathered some butter on it. He set the food on a tray and brought it over to the back, opening the door to the chill night air. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, but a scrambling movement and a sharp inhalation near him told him that the visitor had been curled up next to the door.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you! I fixed you some food, I’ll leave it right inside the door. I – I don’t want you to freeze out here. I’ve… been in your position, I understand. Please, just come inside and eat. I’ll go back up to the front, I won’t bother you.”
The figure was watching him, though he couldn’t see their face. He did see a slight shiver. As much as he would like to go out and pull them inside to get warm, though, he knew that wouldn’t be a welcome action. He went back inside, again closing the door but not locking it. He set the food on the prep table and pulled a chair up next to it, then went back to the front.
Customers drifted in and out, always in groups. Simon listened idly to their conversations as he refilled beer and mulled wine, as the stew pot got lower. There had been more attacks on the border elsewhere, but the Reaver hadn’t been spotted at any of them. Queen Amanda’s forces seemed fiercer than ever, and there was talk of Connor returning to the field soon. More families were packing up and leaving. Simon idly doodled a FOR SALE sign as he waited for the last guests to leave. When they finally did, he locked up and did a cursory clean-up of the dining area. He’d do a more thorough job in the morning. Silently, he opened the door to the kitchen and stepped through.
There was a man slumped over the table. He stirred briefly when Simon came in, but didn’t wake. His dark cloak was ragged and dirty, but the hood was pulled down now to reveal mussed brown hair and a pale face. His forehead was lined with concern even in his sleep, his cheeks looked gaunt, and the dark smudges under his eyes belied deep exhaustion. The food was gone.
Simon slipped silently across the room to a little linen closet and pulled out a rather old quilt. It was stained but clean, and covered in a blue and pink pinwheel pattern. He unfurled it carefully and crept over to drape it over the stranger’s shoulders.
The second the quilt touched the man, Simon found himself flipped around and slammed on the table, the wind knocked out of him. He let out a strangled cry, and the iron grip holding him down suddenly released. He turned to look at the tall, pale stranger whose wild gray eyes darted around the room. The quilt had fallen to the ground, and one heavy leather boot crushed a corner of it into the flagstone floor, and the stranger’s eyes suddenly met his and narrowed. A gaze like cold steel pinned Simon in place, and he waited for the attack that must be coming.