The tavern was warm, smoky, and full of bad decisions in motion.
I sat at the back, nursing a cup of sothing fernted and questionable, boots up on a bench, hair down, tunic unlaced just enough to deflect conversation. The bard was butchering a ballad about a noblewoman and her jealous parrot, and the ale tasted like regret.
Across the room, at the sa long table, the dwarf sat in silence, eyes on the fire, puffing his pipe like it was keeping him alive. We hadn’t said a word all night. Didn’t need to.
After a long pause, he muttered, “Saw your hero.”
I blinked. “What, Sir Ogdan? He’s not mine. And he’s barely a hero.”
The dwarf shook his head. “Not him. The other one. The lad you traumatized.”
I stared at him, unblinking. “Oh. Him.”
He leaned in, smirking like a rat with a secret. “He goes by ‘Sir Mibbs the Fla-Breaker’ now. Has a corner in the Winking Stag up north. Wears that oversized breastplate like a second skin. Bards co to hear his tale.”
I groaned. “Oh gods, don’t tell .”
“He’s got a whole thing now. Claims he stood alone before the Dragon. Eyes blazing. Sword held high. Rescued a virgin maid with naught but courage and faith. Says she wept with joy and vanished in a golden light.”
I snorted into my cup. “I did vanish. Screaming. On a rock.”
“Reckon he left that bit out.”
I shook my head, laughing despite myself. “So what, he’s a folk hero now?”
“Local flavor, maybe. But he’s got fans. There’s a tavern wench nad her dog after him. ‘Mibbsie.’ Little mutt that pees on firewood.”
I grinned. “Fitting.”
The dwarf took a long draw from his flask. “You break all your playthings this badly?”
“Only the delicate ones.”
He chuckled. “Just thought you’d want to know. In case you needed another reason to keep movin’.”
I drained my cup. “I never stop moving.”
Outside, the wind howled. The fire crackled. Soone started a new song. It was worse than the parrot one.
And in my mind, I saw Mibbs. Teary-eyed, terrified, standing in that field with a sword that shook in his hands.
Then I pictured him now. Upright. Embellished. Rewritten by ti and ale.
I raised my cup.
“To Sir Mibbs,” I said. “May his legend be braver than he was.”
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