Volsten scratched his chin. What was once smooth skin now scratched back, covered in uneven stubble. Why hadn’t he asked for a razor? Though not overly concerned with his appearance, he hated to appear unkempt, as the rabble that graced Hilda’s often did.

Oh, goddess! Hilda was going to choke the life from him when he returned. It was impossible to keep track of the days given all that happened, but Inera’s ass, his tab was going to be enormous. After a few quick moments of panic, however, his heart stilled. He needed only to smile, and that big, beautiful Khebian woman would melt before him. So he hoped. Whereas his charms worked for most women when they were mad at him, foremost her sumptuous eldest daughter, Hilda was one of the few chosen women that could, at times, resist his magic. It gave him a lot more respect for her, if not for the way she would ravage his coins.

Of almost its own accord, Volsten’s hand reached out to his pouch of coins, perched on a nearby drawer. He had missed it, even more than he missed being anywhere that wasn’t this city.

Still hefty, he thought. None of those uniformed harpies had saw it as worthwhile to steal from a disabled knight, at least. In fact, he was a bit ashamed of how he snatched it from the lone receptionist tasked with returning it. But only a bit.

Someone tapped lightly on his door. So light, that he wasn’t sure he’d heard anything at all until it happened again.

The door not threatening to fly out of its frame was enough to rule out Melridge, but if not Melridge, he wasn’t sure who it could be. Without her red-haired friend, there would be no reason for Karpila to come. Bellit had given him a few elixirs for the road before leaving for his usual place of practice. And Volsten was, as far as he could tell, well enough to leave this place. It wouldn’t make sense for the physician to return.

Jessa, to gloat? The thought made him bristle. A grave mistake for that ruby-lipped tart to dare be alone with him.

So then it had to be an uncharacteristically subdued Melridge. Given that they were due to leave the guild, she was the only option that made sense. Sighing deeply, he walked to the door, steeling himself for whatever the beast saw fit to throw.

What he saw when the door opened wasn’t Melridge, but a young woman of familiar face and thin composition. Without her blue dress, Maren was near enough a different woman.

“Maren?!” Volsten’s eyes widened. This was unexpected.

She leapt onto him, throwing her arms around his neck in a tight hug. “Volsten! Oh, Volsten!”

Light as she was, the surprising forcefulness of her movement pushed him deeper into the room. “Ah, fair Maren!” he said, prying her arms away from his neck. “I’ve not seen you in some time.”

“Oh, they kept me away from you! I thought you were dead…” Her voice trembled with deep emotion.

Staring at her evoked the image of a young woman in blue dress, covered in blood, fear dancing behind her stunned eyes. Little in the way of makeup, much less than that night for certain, but it did nothing to dampen his remembrance, and neither did the drab gown the guild changed her into.

“I’m yet living, yes,” he said, “but it was in doubt for a time.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, as if a smile was on the cusp of her lips.

That night must still weigh heavily on her. “Why don’t we have a seat on the bed?” He motioned towards its disheveled white sheets.

Maren nodded, and in each other’s grasp, they took a seat. Facing each other, Maren glanced at the opened door before returning her attention to him.

“You fell so far from the window, and so fast, then you didn’t move anymore…I thought my savior was in the goddess’s arms then.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I thought I would be next to you soon, but that…that thing disappeared. For sure, it wanted to tear my limbs from by body, I know it did, but…it was gone. Like that.”

As she spoke, her eyes watered.

“I see,” Volsten said. “Did you tell those that asked of you what happened?”

“I wanted to, but…Volsten, I couldn’t. I thought everything was a nightmare that I would wake up from. My mouth wouldn’t open, unless they mentioned you. They asked if you…if you…” Her brow furrowed again, and those watery eyes spilled over to tears. Again she embraced him, and soon his tunic suffered wet spots.

There was little Volsten could do other than reassuringly pat her head, though he suffered to do it. Of all the things in the world, crying was one of the most annoying.

“No person could do something like that,” she carried on through her tears. “Nothing made by the goddess!”

Spoken like a truly pampered girl. He hadn’t seen anything quite as gruesome, but one visit to the Ancient District would prove that humans could get damn close.

“To speak of that,” Volsten spoke softly, “did…did anyone manage to escape?”

Maren’s crying turned into body-shaking sobs, and Volsten cursed his affinity for questions.

“Are you-oh!”

His eyes wandered to the door to see Melridge there, face one of surprise at the scene before her. Upon noticing him, however, it reset to a frown.

“Excuse me, Lady Birith,” Volsten said.

He tried to stand, but by the goddess did Maren grip his tunic with force. “No, no! Please!” she whispered. “Not again…”

Taking her hands in his own, he whispered back, “I just have to speak with this woman. I’ll return, truly.”

Believing him, she relinquished his tunic. By the time he made it to Melridge, she had taken a step outside.

“You ready?” she asked. “Not that I care. We’re leaving either way.”

“I was, but as I’m sure you’re smart enough to notice, I have a bit of an issue.”

“Don’t give a shit about your lovers' quarrel!” Melridge’s voice raised. “Throw her out.”

Volsten rubbed his face. “That’s Maren Birith, my lady. As far as we know, the last surviving member of her house. The woman whose entire family was just killed, you damned she-beast!”

Melridge shifted awkwardly in her armor, her lips disappearing into her mouth. “Oh. I didn’t know.” Her eyes widened in anger. “She-beast?!”

He bade her to hold that thought and ducked again into the room, where Maren sat with head bowed. Noticing his approach, she lifted it, then proceeded to cry anew.

Goddess, she’s pathetic. He took a seat beside her and, without hesitation, was trapped by desperate hands. For some strange reason she seemed attached to him, unwilling to let go for even a moment. How was he to tell this woman, responsible for his current freedom from the depths of the king’s tower, that he was going to leave her?

In all reality, he could not, lest she recant her story and end what little freedom was afforded to him. That was the power of the crying, sniveling mess he held in his arms.

His fists clenched. For long had he managed to escape being under the thumb of others, yet one step into this accursed city and he was again beholden.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asked.

Brown hair gave way to tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes as she looked up at him. “Yes, sir. They took my dress, but it…so much blood…”

“Then stand, Lady Birith, for we leave this guild today.”

She exhaled sharply. Her strong grip changed to flat hands pressed against his chest. “We…we do?”

Why, she almost sounds happy. “Absolutely,” he said. Maren’s hands in his own, he stood, and took her along with him. “We have a rather special escort, as well.”

After securing his pouch of precious coins, Volsten led Maren to the opened door. Melridge leaned against the wall to their left, arms crossed, examining her gauntlet.

“About time, Bandages. I was about to drag you out.”

She looked from him to the thin woman that clutched his right arm with her whole body. “Oh, Lady Birith!” the knight said, armor clanking as she stood straight. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

Either Maren didn’t hear, or she had the presence of mind to ignore such a woman. Together, the three of them walked towards the main hall, Melridge in lead.

She acted as a divider, of sorts. Every adventurer showed deference to the armor-clad woman before them. In the less populated halls, the few people they came across simply skirted to her side with a nod, and Melridge barely acknowledged them. In the main hall, however, her presence was made manifest. The throngs of people-whether there for work or idle chatter-parted as if they were an arm meeting a good axe.

Those that didn’t part, she pushed through, and their angry faces were silenced when they looked upon the woman so rudely charging ahead.

“Oh, Lady Melridge!”

“Sorry, Lady Melridge!”

For her part, Melridge did utter an ‘Excuse me’ or two while she marched, but it was mostly in silence that she moved.

Impressive, really. Volsten didn’t envy being such an uncouth woman, so lacking in grace and feminine trappings, but Inera would curse him if he dared deny that her effect on these people wasn’t something to behold.

*

Volsten had, against all odds, convinced Melridge of his need to visit a certain inn. It wasn’t long after they’d descended the hall’s grand white steps that he made his play. Melridge was quite resistant to the idea (for in the end she was noble, and they all had reservations about any district that wasn’t Honor), but being truthful turned out to be to his benefit. The more he went on about the absolute ravaging that Hilda would do to him, the more Melridge’s red brows raised, and the more receptive she became to the idea.

In the end, she agreed, but only to see him ‘get his ass reamed’. If there was a difference between her and the more barbaric of the city, it would be difficult to find.

Throughout their strange negotiation, Maren was content to be silent. Her input amounted to light strokes of his arm and the occasional hum, but a few times her grip tightened for some unknowable reason.

Hilda’s Inn was quite a bit away from the district that housed the Adventurer’s Guild, so far that Volsten was sure it could tighten out the tether if they so wished. In the time it took for them to reach Hilda’s, the sun had found it trivial to make him sweat, and that was without the aid of armor. Melridge’s body was probably soup, and that guess was strengthened by the droplets that cascaded down her freckled cheeks.

Maren...poor Maren. Her gown would’ve watered a garden.

Henric, as always, moved hay back and forth near the stables, which were filled to the brim with horses. Volsten spotted his own and was rather surprised that Hilda hadn’t done something with it.

The large young man turned to stack another bale of hay when, seeing them, his mouth hung open. Melridge continued on, but, figuring that she wouldn’t notice them fall behind just yet, Volsten stopped to speak.

Henric spoke first. “Is that who I think it is?” He asked as he peeked from around the corner at Melridge. His whispering made it difficult to hear him above the neighing of horses, and he gave no more than a cursory glance to the woman draped on Volsten’s arm. That could be considered rude, but Maren didn’t pay any more attention to Henric than she did the air, so it was fine.

“Alexandria Melridge, yes,” Volsten answered.

“The…the Scarlet Beauty?” Henric was astonished.

“The very same, unfortunately.”

“How did you manage?”

“Manage to what?” Volsten knew the implication, and it deeply offended him. “To be saddled with a fate only marginally preferable to a stay beneath the tower? Through no fault of my own, I can tell you.”

Henric gave him a confused stare.

“HEY!” Melridge shouted at them from closer to the inn’s entrance.

Goddess, what a loud woman. “Until next time, Henric.”

He’d already ducked around the corner.

The inn, as packed as it could be during the middle of the day, was put under the same spell as Henric. When Melridge stepped inside, the ruckus ceased to be, though not immediately. Those closest to the door quieted first, and then nudged for their fellow patrons to do the same. Mugs were lowered mid-drink. Food, if not already on a utensil, was set aside.

Seemingly unaware of her effect, Melridge propped herself against the inn wall next to the door. “Do what you must,” she told him, “but be quick about it.”

Would it kill this woman to whisper?

He lowered his head to Maren, who looked unphased by the change of scenery. “I’ll return shortly,” he said. Immediately the pressure on his arm increased. “I assure you of my swiftness here, Lady Birith.”

She moaned a protest, but Volsten pulled his arm free of her grasp as gently as he could.

He dared not look at the counter. Hilda was there, and the plan was to avoid her gaze until necessary.

The patrons whispered. Many of them were as Henric was, questioning whether it was her at all. Others knew it to be her and wondered if he was her prisoner. The more distasteful (and that was saying something) reasoned that he was far too pretty for that, and instead put forth that he was her lover. Difficult not to snap on that one.

Hilda stood with hands on hips. “Well, well, well,” she said, face stern but not terrifying. “I thought you’d skipped out on me!”

Volsten leaned on the counter. He wouldn’t smile, not yet. “Those words are wounding. You are as a mother to me, why would I ever cheat you? Have I ever cheated you?”

“Where’s my gold?” she asked pointedly.

“Alright. 21 gold, if my math is correct, considering the days outstanding?”

“Aye, it is.”

Volsten grabbed a handful of coins and laid them before Hilda, counting to be sure, and plucking the crowns away. “Then consider my debt paid, Madame Hilda.”

She picked up the room key among the gold coins. “You mean to give this back?”

“I’ll no longer be at the inn, so there’s no need for me to have a room.”

“Who’re the girls?” she asked, looking beyond him.

“Oh?” He turned to see, as if he’d already forgotten. “Those girls? My partners. Knightly duties.”

Hilda nodded. “Think I’ve heard about that red one.”

Before this little escapade, Volsten thought Melridge to be a phenomenon only within the guild. Clearly, he underestimated her reputation. “Everyone has, I’m beginning to believe.”

“Noble girls? I guess you’ll treat them better than my daughter.”

As if on cue, Atusa emerged from the door behind her mother, smoothing out her short white dress. She looked about the silent room in suspicion, given that the inn was never so quiet during the day.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Volsten said, taking in the sight of the young Khebian woman. “You and your daughters receive my utmost respect, unless there are events that escape my memory. Which, in my limited wisdom, may be the case.”

“Really?” Hilda crossed her arms. “You take my daughter to bed for years, make her believe things, and do not a damn thing with her.”

“This again? I can say nothing more than I did the last time. Atusa is a woman that enjoys my company as much as I enjoy hers. Nothing more or less than that.”

“Say what you want, boy, but I know my daughter’s worth.” A more terrifying Hilda was showing itself, the one he expected to see. “You say you respect my Atusa, but what man lays with a woman this much, and doesn’t take her hand in marriage? I told you: She ain’t a tavern wench, and you won’t treat her like one!”

“I don’t-“

“Don’t know how happy that girl is whenever you stop by? You’re all she talks about until you disappear again. Shit, after that night you took her to Honor, it was the worst she’s ever been about you. And you ain’t spoke to her since.”

Hilda was right about that, but what was he to do? The night had annoyed him. Hilda's attempts at playing husband-maker for her daughter were aggravating in their transparency, and especially so that day.

“I doubt you’d care this much if I wasn’t a nobleman. I don’t see you trying to force her with any of these fine men.”

To speak of them, they’d recovered quite well, and were perhaps even louder than when he entered.

“What? What in Inera’s name are you talking about, boy?”

“A commoner with a nobleman. A tale older than the kingdom. A well-off marriage. A chance to improve you and your family’s lot in life.” Volsten pushed a few strands of blonde hair away. “You want to use me, Hilda, and I’m not fond of it.”

Had Hilda been of fairer skin, she would’ve been more scarlet than Melridge with how she took hold of his collar. “Listen here, you son of a bitch. I don’t give a shit what you are. If you didn’t have a silver to your name, it wouldn’t change shit. My girl’s happiness is more important than any of your damn crowns!”

Volsten said nothing. After a few moments of patient waiting, Hilda released him, but her eyes remained intense. Atusa put mugs on a tray, hiding her face from them both.

He adjusted his tunic, which Hilda had done a fine job of roughing up. There was more he wanted to say, but if she thought him ever marrying her daughter was a possibility, then she was insane, and would suffer no reasoning. Instead, he nodded as gracefully as he could, then turned.

Melridge hadn’t moved, but she had a mug in each hand, so someone was kind enough to gift a drink. Or two. Or maybe she took them. That seemed like something she would do.

Maren stared forlornly at him until her body was wrapped around his arm.

“She almost pulled you over the counter, Bandages!” Melridge said. She stepped away for a moment to place her mugs on a table.

“To think the Scarlet Beauty would grace our mugs!” a man said, almost too excited. His friend agreed, until they realized the mugs were empty.

“Oh, fuck off!” Melridge groaned.

Together, they left, with Melridge cursing the name the world had given her.