The next morning was easily the most chaotic he’d had in his entire life. It started, as most mornings did, with breakfast and coffee. The innkeeper Mandra was up before her guests, cooking up a storm in her kitchen. The aroma of fried eggs and the rich black liquid drifted up the stairs, waking her patrons who all stumbled out of their rooms like the dead.

Samuel was much later to reach the taproom than the others, but there was still plenty of food. Mandra slid a plate in front of him as he sat at the bar, then supplied a steaming mug with a patient smile. Samuel attacked the coffee first, downing it in one quick motion without bothering to sweeten it. He felt his spirits lift considerably, not to mention his eyes to open properly.

Satisfied, he turned to his plate. There were two omelets on it, along with another new item he did not recognize. Cutting a piece of it off proved to be tricky, but he eventually managed it and popped it into his mouth. It tasted like a potato, he thought, but it was shredded into tiny strings and fried together. Still, it was very tasty, with just a little salt sprinkled on for added flavor.

It was hard to tell whether he preferred Seamus’ omelets or Mandra’s, because it was a very close thing. His memory of the first time he’d tried the unusual dish was still fresh in his mind, and the omelets in front of him were just as good. She used a strange green herb in it that gave it a light tangy flavor, and it didn’t take him long to clean his plate.

“Someone was hungry,” Mandra said, coming around to refill his mug. “I take it you like my cooking.”

Samuel made a small noise of agreement, his mouth still too full to speak. Swallowing the last bite, he cleared his throat. “Yes. You are a very fine cook, mistress.”

“Call me Mandra, dear,” she said, smiling warmly at him. “And thank you very much. I had a great teacher, and a woman’s got to have something to be proud of.”

“You should be very proud of this,” Samuel agreed, gesturing at the empty plate. “I’ve been on a diet of very plain food for some time, so this was a nice break.”

Her smile widened as she took the plate away. Samuel was sad to see it go, but it quickly returned, loaded with another two omelets. Mandra laughed at the eager light in his eyes and rolled her own. “I should have known at first sight that you’d have an insatiable appetite.”

Samuel paused, not sure if she were scolding him, then started on devouring the new food. He heard a few chuckles from down the other patrons. They all sat comfortably at the bar, focusing on the food, with only occasional chatter between them. One man at the far end of the bar raised a tankard in his direction and nodded.

“Mandra’s well known ‘round these parts, stranger,” he said with a grin. “She makes fine grub and a damn good brew.”

“More than one kind of brew,” Samuel replied, lifting his mug. The others chuckled again. “This is good coffee.”

He didn’t add that it wasn’t the best he’d had, not wanting to insult the mistress of the tavern. It was still top quality, he thought, stirring a few spoonfuls of sugar in. But he was still determined to visit Adarba when he got the chance or find someone who trades in the specific beans that made his favorite brew of coffee.

Distracted by the fond memory of that superior beverage, Samuel didn’t notice the stranger enter the bar, glance around, and fix his attention on himself. He was just draining the second mug when the man approached and announced his presence by clearing his throat. He was a small man, with dark blue robes chased in golden trim. It was very similar to Samuel’s robe, though it was in much better condition, and fit properly instead of hanging loosely.

“You are late, young man,” the stranger said in a crisp voice. “You were to be in the Archives an hour ago!”

Confused, Samuel turned to regard the stranger. He looked to only be a decade or so older than Samuel appeared, certainly not old enough to use the ‘young man’ description. He smiled warmly at the man, not wanting to be rude, but he made it quite plain he had no clue who he was.

“I think you have me mistaken with another person, sir,” he said kindly. “I do hope you find them, however.”

The stranger looked taken aback and wrong-footed. “My apologies. I did indeed think you were someone else. You’re clearly dressed as an Acolyte of Arcana, so I thought…”

His voice trailed off as he stared at Samuel, his eyebrows slowly drawing together in concentration. “You are a follower of Arcana, are you not?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Samuel said. “I’m certainly not an Acolyte.”

Before the other man could question him further, he fished out the silver pendant from under his robes and brought it out for inspection. The stranger leaned forward, peering at the object with obvious confusion. Then the confusion turned to suspicion, then recognition. His eyes widened, and he looked from the amulet to Samuel’s face, then back.

“But then,” he said, his words faltering slightly. He took in Samuel’s appearance one more time. “White streak through your hair, that older robe design, it must be you. But we all thought you to be dead.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot quite recently,” Samuel said pleasantly, taking another bit of omelet. “How did you recognize me?”

“Our Lord has told us much about you,” the mand said breathlessly. “I have heard the tale of how you rescued him, and that you bear his essence.”

His reason catching up with the moment, he blinked at the man. “You have spoken to Arcana?”

“Not many times,” the man said, looking ashamed. “He told us you lived on, lost to the world, and that you would one day return.”

“Mhmm,” Samuel said distractedly. He wasn’t sure if this stranger was honest, or manic. “Did Arcana mention what my name was?”

The man paused at the strange question, seeming to realize that he was getting a little too excited. Making an obvious effort to calm himself, he adjusted his robes and made a gesture of apology. “Yes, of course. I am now certain it is you, Samuel Bragg, your excellence.”

Samuel grimaced at the title. “No, that will not do.”

“What will not do?” The man asked.

“That title. My name is Samuel.”

“But that is the common title for those who are chosen Champions of the gods,” the man protested. “It is only fitting that I address you properly.”

“Tell me,” Samuel said, his voice impatient. “Excluding Arcana, who has the most authority within our Order?”

“M-,” The man began to speak, then hesitated. “Well, that is now you, I suppose.”

“Alright then,” Samuel said, trying to assume the air of authority that he thought a Champion might have. “I order you to call me Samuel. Or if you insist on formality, Master Bragg at the most.”

The man seemed uncomfortable with the idea, but he bobbed his head in recognition of the order. “Of course, Master Bragg.”

Samuel gave a wave of dismissal and returned to his breakfast. “Don’t bother me just yet. I will see you after I am finished connecting with old friends.”

The man left without another word, practically sprinting to the door in his haste to comply. Samuel stared after him for a few seconds in mild surprise, wondering why he’d been so quick to obey. Worried that perhaps he’d been too rude, he turned to face Mandra.

“Do you think I was too stern?” He asked. “I don’t want to be rude, but I’m also not interested in having someone fuss over me.”

“I think you’ll be fine,” Mandra replied, pausing in the wiping of a tankard to stare at him with interest. “So you’re the Champion of Arcana, then. That is most interesting.”

Samuel flushed, feeling the eyes of the other patrons turn to him. He didn’t necessarily hate attention, but having it focused on him in this manner was highly embarrassing. “I’ve only recently found out that I’m Champion”

“What did he mean when he said you were lost to the world?” One of the men at the bar said. “Are you some kind of mage?”

“I do have some magical talent,” Samuel said. “But if it’s the same to you, I’d rather not discuss it.”

The man seemed to accept Samuel’s rebuttal without offense, and the others followed his lead. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, but casual conversation began to fill it again, interrupted by the sound of forks scraping against plates. They finished their breakfast without much delay, then the others began to gather their belongings to set off. Samuel watched them leave with a brief gesture of farewell, then let out a long sigh.

“I suppose I should set off as well,” he said reluctantly. “I have to visit an old friend, and if I have time, look into the College.”

“Good luck on your ventures,” Mandra said, collecting his empty plate and mug. “I’ll see you back here for supper.”

Samuel smiled in spite of himself as he thought of another delicious meal to look forward to. He adjusted his travel-worn robes, taking a moment to inspect them for dirt or stains. Finding none, he made his way across the nearly deserted taproom and pushed out the door into the busy King’s Road.