Luck seemed to have been favoruing Éolan that day instead of the swindled drunkard, for she had managed to sit herself down in that tavern just moments before them threatening clouds had their imminent release. Being close to the wall and the window, she could hear the muffled splashing of mud under quick hurrying feet outside and the crepitating of steadily multiplying raindrops falling against the windows. Hopefully someone lifts him up and carries him inside. He'll die in the rain of lung ache. Drunk idiot.
Thunder rumbled in the vault far above and its drone lingered in the air uncannily long, and spread goosebumps on Éolan's nape as some kind of a bad omen would. 'The hooves of a giant celestial horse cresting the sky, untamed and free to roam the wilderness of the void'. That's how bard Éomer sang about it, when I was a child. The thin paper in her hand bent towards her chilled breast with a quick gust of draught coming at her from the direction of the door.
A sudden shade then passed over the parchment and Éolan's still cold hands. No sooner had she raised her head than the man sat before her, an inquisitive stranger with fresh ale in his guts allowing him excessive freedom. Nevertheless, she saw not afraid, thinking he was as average a visitor of inns as she could possibly have run into: middle-aged and flirty, but harmless; a local regular of such a joint. Strong-armed, although, and with rugged permanently blackened hands. Like our village smith. Thick forearms of a hammer-wielder, a smiter of the forge. An armorer, perhaps.
"May I ask what you are reading?" he asked her as he dragged his chair closer to the table upon which drops of drink fell from his beard. The crooks laughed again at the limping woman who swiped the floors.
Well, we have that in common. If only I knew what I was reading, if I can call it reading. I don't even know what language this is writ in. I should have asked someone, maybe, despite father's warning not to show this envelope to anyone until I arrived here. To a King's man only. When the rain is stopped I will seek a guard or someone.
"Looks like you may, mister," she said. "Truth be told, it's official."
She raised the letter and displayed the seal of the King on it. I bet you can't see your own nose...