Jorbert lay on an expansive red feather bed, completely naked, his cock crooked, laying flat against his thigh as though trying to tell him and the world that it had given up, that it could take no more. Well, it had some sense, he supposed. Upon returning to Redforest, he’d fucked half the whores in the village and drunk more wine than all the realm’s men combined.

His brother Lance was off with his men, trying to find Valian, the sell-sword who now had a most precious dragon’s egg; he’d even convinced the tribesmen to join the hunt, promising them another sack of gold, should they find Valian first. Jorbert, on the other hand, had lost interest, mostly because he did not believe he would be able to beat his brother in finding the sell-sword. Who apparently now had the help of some young girl; rumor was, thanks to his man reporting back, that the girl was actually an elf. Preposterous, of course. Though he had thought a dragon egg was ridiculous, too, before he saw one. He sighed.

He brought a glass of wine off the bedside stand and took a long drink from it. Cool, apple red, with a twinge at the end to make your tongue curl. Where would he be without it. And the woman. She was in the corner, speaking through a small door in the wall to someone he couldn’t see. The attendant, probably. She liked to know all the ways in which a patron was pleased.

His tastes were uncomplicated.

Get drunk, fuck for hours.

The girl had luxurious bronze skin with golden garments flowing over her breasts, navel, and thighs, the garments not quite see-through, enough to leave some to the imagination, but see-through enough to know what it was you were going to get. Only her blonde hair and red eyes gave him pause. Exotic.

Expensive.

She closed the door on the side of the room and walked over to the bed. She took her garments off, revealing tight, pert breasts and soft down between her legs. His breath left him for the moment, then when it returned, he smiled a weak smile. “Beautiful,” he said, though he was sure she knew it. He slapped his palm against the mattress. “Come here.”

She flopped down on her stomach next to him and giggled. He gave her ass a playful smack. She was more beautiful than Lywin, the girl’s head he took at the Godscliff, and more lively, but there was a language barrier that Lywin didn’t have; this girl was exotic, indeed, and yet he did not even know her name. “What should I call you?”

“Cahl. You?”

“Yes. Call you.” He pointed to his chest. “I’m Jorbert. That’s my name. And you are?”

“Me are?”

He sighed. “Well, who are you?”

She pursed her lips. “For you.”

She pushed herself up and straddled him.

Jorbert chuckled. “I’m a little tired yet.” He took a sip of wine. “Give me a rest.”

She didn’t seem to understand, just sat there, watching with red eyes. He held up a finger and put his goblet on the side-table. He rubbed her thigh. “I’ve been with you for hours. I want to be with you again. But to do that, I need to know your name.”

The girl gave a small smile. “Be with again.” A light seemed to burn suddenly in her mind. “Ah, nam. Yhara.”

“Yhara. Sounds like a hoverstone name. But surely yo would speak the common tongue, if you were from there. I’m sure you’re people live far, far way.”

She nodded, but he didn’t think she knew what he was saying. It was no matter. At least he could ask for her the next time. He smiled sadly, then said, “Do you know why people call me by my last name? And not my first?” She looked at him vacantly. “No, I expect you don’t. My father, you see, had Lance first; he’s the first born, heir to Redforest and the hoverstone. He was thrilled, thrilled, by the prospect. Then only a year later, my mother, Lady Lizzel Jorbert--I know, a silly name, Lizzel, but it’s what she was born with--had me.

“My father didn’t seem to mind, I’m told. A second son isn’t a dishonor, and good insurance, should the first meet an unexpected end.” The girl put a hand on his chest, began to rub it across his chest’s crinkled hair. “But months after I was born, my mother fell into what is called the ‘Womanly Blues,’ which sometimes afflicts women after birth. No one knows why, but it’s seen as a bad omen for the child whose thought to be the cause of said blues; in my mother’s case, it was a bad omen for her. She hung herself from the rafters of my bedchambers before I was three months old.”

He pinched his tongue between his teeth. “My name was supposed to be Thomas. Master Thomas Jorbert. I was called that for the first three months of my life. After my mother died, my father changed my name. I was to be called Talwu from hence forth and forever after.” He turned his eyes up to Yhara. “Do you know what Talwu means? Is that a foriegn word to you?”

She had a look of surprise on her face. She said, “Mistake.”

He nodded slowly. “In elvish.”

“Elvish,” she said, nodding. “Mistake, elvish.”

“Of course, elves are only a myth; or if they were once real, they’re now all dead now. But--”

“Ded? Evles ded?”

“Yes,” Jorbert said slowly.

Yhara shook her head violently. “No ded. Est Shohre.”

“East Shore.”

“Est Shohre. No ded. No talwu.”

“No talwu,” Jorbert snorted. But he knew what she meant. No mistake. According to this girl, the elves were not dead, were very alive and living along the East Shore. Had her people had contact with them? How else would she know elvish words yet know nothing of the common tongue? He knew elvish words from old books, from his noble education. This girl? He doubted very much she could even read.

Still, it was a reach. But he could not shake the feeling that this was in some way true. And if Valian had met an elf--he wondered what his brother Lance would make of that. Was he in danger?

He rolled the girl over and let himself in between her thighs. She squealed and then went breathless, panting into his ear, saying sweet nothings, while his mind began more and more to turn away from Yhara and towards the East Shore.