Slowly, Meryn Rohald moved his hands over the snares of his lute to set in the first chord of River Irallel. His patchwork cloak fluttered as he spun to face the other side of the crowded inn, and it took only two rythmic stamps on the table he stood on for the soldiers to recognize the song and clap along. Laughter filled the common room of The Nine Rings Inn, but Meryn couldn't help but shoot a glance at Master Rowen, as he had done many times this night. The only thing that seemed to calm Master Rowen - the plump, grey haired innkeeper - was when the crowd laughed. It hadn't escaped his notice how, whenever he took a short pause between songs and acts, Master Rowen dabbed his forehead with a dirty rag to hide how profusely he was sweating. Meryn thought that the man would burst the second he had recognized the tune of his previous song, The Fool Who Thought He Was King. Like the soldiers would've burned down his Inn had they felt offended. As if they wouldn't lynch me first.

He was approaching the end of his act. The night was still young, but he had only agreed to entertaining the guests in return for a warm meal and a place to spend the night. Now that the scent of broth and roasted chicken found its way to his nose, he thought it was about time for his payment.

"That'll be all for now lads." Meryn said after he played the final note. He moved to the edge of the table that had served as his stage, careful not to knock over any mugs of ale, and found his way to the dirty floor in one elegant motion.

Master Rowen was beside him in an instant. "Can't you entertain them for just a while longer gleeman?" The innkeeper pleaded. "If it's coin you want, I can pay. Yes, I'll pay."

Meryn brushed a lock of golden hair out of his face. "The followers of the F-" he caught himself in time. "of the Dragon won't burn down your inn without my stories, songs, and acts Master Rowen. Just keep the ale flowing and you'll have nothing to worry about." A look at the innkeeper told him the man was not convinced. Wearily, he added "But maybe I'll slip in an act or two after supper." The innkeeper's eyes shone.

"Then let's get you something to eat, eh?" Master Rowen turned. "Hilde!" Meryn nearly jumped at the innkeeper's sudden shout. A woman, seemingly twice the size of the innkeeper, appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with her arms crossed under her chest and her brow furrowed. "Fetch something to eat for the gleeman!"

Before Meryn could make a remark, the innkeeper guided him -somewhat forcefully- by the arm toward the counter. Muttering a 'thank you', Meryn took place on a barstool that had clearly seen better days.

While he turned on his stool to observe the crowd, Meryn caught on to the conversation next to him. "-heading for Jurene. Probably want to cut us off from Kinslayer's dagger." Meryn cast a sideways glance he was sure the three men beside him wouldn't notice. They wore dull red gambesons, almost as worn as their grizzled, scar-covered faces. Men from the borderlands, Meryn guessed.

The bald man closest to him sniffed loudly. "Whitecloaks. Fools, all of them." He slowly shook his head as he raised his mug of ale. "The Cairhienin won't let an army of Whitecloaks cross the Erinin, no matter the reason."

"As if the Queen of Andor will continue to let them to rally in the first place" the third chimed in. "Can't imagine she's pleased with them gathering in Andor." The other two men nodded in agreement.

Meryn turned away during the short silence that followed, but his interest was reinvigorated when the third spoke up again. "Anyways, the Whitecloaks aren't our biggest problem. Have you heard about them Aiel sightings? Those blasted cave-dwellers showed their faces at Kinslayer's dagger." According to the rumours Meryn had heard, Kinslayer's dagger was where the False Dragon had made camp. It was said that the mountains glowed like a swarm of fireflies during the night, each light a campfire of the dragon's followers. He eyed the men cautiously. He hadn't been sure of it before, but their reactions made him believe the rumours were true.

"Bloody Aiel." The fellow closest to Meryn spat. "What happened to 'em? What did the Lord Dragon do?"

"Put 'em to the sword, that's what he did. Flaming all of 'em." Laughter erupted from their side of the counter.

"Serves 'em right, didn't expect anything less from the Lord Drag-" The innkeeper's return cut him off from the conversation.

"Got some lamb stew and mushroom pasties for you. Enjoy, gleeman." Eagerly, Meryn pulled the plate and bowl toward him.

"Mind if I eat this in the stable? I prefer to eat my meals in peace and quiet." With the haphazard group of bandits and deserters who called themselves 'Followers of the Dragon' occupying Tremonsien, finding a place to sleep had been difficult - even for a gleeman. At first, Master Rowen hadn't been willing to offer a place in his stable either. It had cost him three more silver coins than he'd like to admit, but the harsh rain outside made a roof above his head worth every penny.

Master Rowen shot him an exasperated look. "Don't startle the horses."

Meryn grinned and raised his hands. "They won't even know I'm there." With the prospect of a quiet place to eat and smoke his pipe, Meryn took his supper and made way for the stable.

@Algarus

Ataline sat in a back corner, cowl tucked over her head, ensuring the blood red sea of hair she sported would remain under wraps. It had been a long and troubled time on the roads from here, and the tales she had heard were none fairer. Her bow laid against the wall, as did the hunting spear she was so used to wielding. Compared to the rest of the rabble, she might have seemed a hunter of the horn, which wasn't entirely far off. She had little to do now, in the days since her home was left behind, the ghost of her father clung to her like a chill in her bones. She could only hope that the fires of wanderlust might one day free her from such a thing. For now, with a handful of stale bread and cold lamb stew, she watched the gleeman, and was reminded of the days when she had been the mistress of her own Tavern. Of course, it was never truly her own, but rather her fathers and mothers; yet she had been in charge of it.

Her idle ears caught the talk of White Cloaks and the Dragon Reborn, and suddenly the thought of finishing her meal no longer appealed to her. Thoughts which soon turned to the fact she had no shelter for the night. She had thought that perhaps a warm meal might be enough to shelter against the cold, but such a meal had gone luke-warm but an hour ago. A bit of a foolish move on her part, but so it was. With talk of Whitecloaks, and Dragons, she pushed back a loose lock of hair, setting off a small chorus of bells that rattled under her cowl. It was a custom unique to Arafel. One that she didn't quite understand, but as a girl she had always woven bells into her hair. Even with her family slain, she would continue to do so. It was perhaps, the few fragments she could carry with her. What good were these saviors of the realm if they were so caught in their own world that the tragedies of others were largely unknown. For two weeks she had traveled now, and not one person spoke of the Trollics that had attacked Tifan's Well, of those brave defenders who had died, and the Aes Sedai that had been slain as they road forth. At least, she was certain the mother had died. It wasn't something she would expect to be repeated, the death of an Aes Sedai was trouble enough, one slain by Trollics? Well, that was one way to end up being on the sour side of the White Tower. Far as they would know, the woman known as Ataline was just as dead as the Brown Sister they had sent with her. Pushing her bowl aside, she clutched at her remnants of bread, and decided to take her mind off such affairs, she would speak with the Gleeman.

Her eyes had lingered upon him, and he had shown some level of discomfort at the talks; not that she blamed him. In the recent days talk of the Dragon or any hint of where one's allegiance set could set forth any matter of mayhem. No, she would speak to the Gleeman of plain things, and the tales that had humored her in simpler times. Nothing of Dragons, White Cloaks, or bloody Aes Sedai. Collecting what was hers, she left the way she had come in, the warmth of the common room vanished quickly, though the voices from within lingered. Regardless, her course was set, moving towards the stables, bow across her shoulder, spear poking out of her quiver; she must have seemed quite a sight to some. She had only hope the Gleeman not take her appearance for something less than friendly.

@MightyHorus

Careful not to lose his supper to extending elbows and grand gestures, Meryn moved through the crowded inn. Twice did he stop to accept the praise of drunk patrons, more so because they seized his arm or shoulder before he could move away. With pained smiles and nods, he listened.

That was the issue of performing in the countryside. A gleeman drew eyes here. Everyone watched the man with the patchwork cloak, and everyone listened when he spoke - be it high or plain chant. It was a double-edged sword. It gave a sense of safety, knowing that there were always people who'd notice when you were in trouble. Knowing that you couldn't be ambushed without at least someone knowing. Yet that also meant he could never fully disappear from the public eye. Never merge into a crowd or leave town without someone knowing.

It was how the guild had caught up to him over five times already. Nowadays, he was more careful in covering his steps. More cautious not to make the same mistake twice. Sometimes leaving unseen was as easy as hiding his cloak and baggy clothes and riding out during the night. At other times, it had taken distractions. Once, it had come down to a fight. The deadly game of cat and mouse he played with them, however, had culminated into an array of useful skills.

Like knowing when he was being followed.

His brown eyes darted around, never resting in one spot too long, as he took in the faces of the patrons. He sought for signs, however subtle, that the figure stalking him through the crowd toward the stables wasn't acting alone. He made sure to take his time to reach the door to be certain that the figure had no helpers. When he was, Meryn slipped through quickly.

The door creaked as it opened, letting through noise, warmth, and light that made the young stableboy on the other side jump up. Meryn glanced at him but dismissed the kid's presence immediately. When he first came in early in the afternoon, to drop off his belongings and saddlebags, he had promised the kid three silver pieces to keep quiet and leave him be. The mere mention of three silver pieces had made the kid's eyes bulge.

Now came the time to really put it to the test.

As soon as he was through the door, Meryn stepped aside and hurriedly put down his supper. His eyes flashed to his belongings lying near the haystack about fifteen paces away. Among them were three bundles of oiled cloth. Three perfect examples to illustrate why the guild wanted him dead. Like I'll go that easily. He reached for the dagger hidden in his green leather vest.

The second the figure following him would step through the door, he'd drag them aside and pin them to the wall with a dagger to the throat. The blade gleamed in the lamp's light. "I won't go that easily..." He muttered once more, to himself.

@Algarus