Merilene curled up under a thick blanket on her bed, blue eyes shut tight, knees to her chest.  She lay there, perfectly still and holding her breath, trying to block out the world.  It didn't work—she could hear heavy footsteps on the stairs outside her small room. It was funny, she thought, how you could tell how angry a person was by the sound of their boots.  The young woman opened her eyes and ler her breath out as a sigh.  She heard the door of her room fly open and slam against the wall, so hard she felt the vibration through the bed.  She heard the landlady's soft "Hmph", followed by a muttered "Damn it all" before the blanket she was hiding under was torn from her bed and she was exposed, blinking, to the light from the hall.  Karin stood in the doorway, blanket-in-hand, a silhouette.  "Get off yer lazy ass and get to work, ye useless thing!" the woman shouted at her angrily.

Meri sat up on one elbow and glared at her.  Her red hair fell around her shoulders loosely, thick and curly and out of control.  "I—"

"Don't even start with me, girl.  Horam gave ye time enough off, it's about time ye got back to work."  The landlady, dropped the blanket and crossed her arms over her chest.  "Ye don't work, I en't got a reason to keep ye under my roof.  That man can't run the Lakebottom himself, the daft fool, so get yerself over there and help him or ye'll be out on the streets."

"A moment of privacy, if'n ye don't mind," Meri said, trying to control her temper, "So as I can get dressed?"

"En't nothing there I haven't seen before—get to it."

Meri bit back a curse and slid off the bed.  She slipped out of her nightclothes and grabbed a shift from the pile on her floor.  As she pulled it over her head she glanced at Karin, but the older woman had turned away.  The girl gestured at the back of the her head rudely.  She slipped into a petticoat, and then a heavy woolen skirt.  "Will ye at least help me with the bodice, if'n ye're just gonna stand there?" she asked as she buttoned up her blouse.

The landlady sniffed derisively.

"Fine then," Meri muttered.  She grunted, struggling with the ill-fitting garment, sucking in her stomach to get the strings tied.  "It's just that it doesn't fit as well as it used to and I can't afford another one."  She could barely breathe with it on.

"En't my problem," Karin retorted.  "Ye should've thought of that, eh?"

Meri turned her back on the older woman and sat down on the bed to pull on her stockings and boots.  When she stood and turned around, Karin was in her face, eye to eye.  "S'cuse me," Meri muttered, startled.  She tried to move around the landlady.

"Ye and I're gonna be having words soon, ye little tramp," Karin said, her voice dangerously low.  She was so close Meri could smell the garlic on her breath.  "Don't think I don't know about Horam's little trips up here.  He en't nearly as sneaky as he'd like to believe."

"I—"

"Give him one excuse to kick ye out of our home, and I'll make sure he follows through.  Were it up to me, ye'd already be out on the street, doing what I'm sure ye do best."  She glanced down at Meri's chest, at the ill-fitting bodice that shoved her alrady-ample bosom even more front-and-center, and then back up at her face.  "But I don't make the decisions 'round here."

"Well that's certainly good for me, en't it, ye old crone."  She immediately wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

Karin slapped her hard across the face, her lips pressed together tightly, trembling.  She grabbed Meri's hair and pulled head in close.  "Don't push me," she whispered into Meri's ear, her breath hot, "Or I'll find that excuse for ye."  She pushed the younger woman away and stomped out of the room.

Meri stood there, rubbing her cheek.  Her eyes darted around the room, then narrowed.  "Where's my cloak?" she called down the stairs after a moment.

"Burned it," Karin replied from downstairs, her tone still harsh.  "Covered in fleas, filthy.  Not that that was a surprise."

Meri paused, stumbled down the stairs noisily.  "I only had the one," she muttered.  "It'll be winter soon, how am I supposed to replace it?"

The landlady laughed; "Ye better get running then, girl, it's winter now, snowin'.  Besides, ye're gonna be late."

Meri bit back another insult and slipped through the door and into the cold.  Outside, the snow was falling in big clumps, drifting down like feathers.  She shivered, then stepped out onto the dirt street and jogged north.  A cold wind off the lake stopped her in her tracks and she hissed out a curse between clenched jaws.  She's a madwoman, Meri thought, She's trying to kill me!  Without her cloak the cold was painfully intense.  She wrapped her arms around her body, rubbing her biceps to try and form some heat as she ran down the road towards the lake and the inn where she worked, the Lakebottom.  Around her, a few citizens of Parg milled about, heavily bundled, finishing up their business for the evening.  The sky was grey and heavy, the first stars blotted out by thick clouds.  At the end of the street she could see the inn, and beyond that the mountains and the lake, which was already pock-marked with floating islands of ice; it was not yet entirely frozen over.  Another blast of wind took the breath out of her, but she made it to the wooden building and slipped inside, making a bee-line to the hearth—blessedly burning brightly.

Merilene lingered in front of the heat for a long moment, savoring the relief from the conditions outside.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  Somewhere behind her, a hoarse voice cut through the din of the common room:  "Meri!  Oi, lass, get a bloody round to the fellas by the fire."

Meri blinked her eyes and shook the last of the snowflakes from her hair.  "'Course, boss, right away."  She swooped behind the bar in a rustle of skirts and filled a quartet of tankards with the house brew, and forced a smile.  "Sorry."

"En't no sorry 'bout it," Horam, the innkeeper, muttered under his breath.  "Just do yer damn job, and don't be lettin' me find myself having to yell at ye for being late again!"

As she delivered the drinks to the local men by the fire, one of them pinched her rump and grinned up at her with a look that said I can warm you up, sweetheart.  He stank of alcohol and could hardly sit up straight in his chair.  Meri  just smiled at the man sweetly, choking back her temper.  "Sorry 'bout the wait, lads," she said, giving them a little curtsy and a wink.  "My own fault for being late—I'll make sure ye'll get everything ye need."  Likely they'll want to take me up on that, she thought, They'll be disappointed tonight, then.

She tried to keep herself busy and her mind active, grateful to have the distraction of work.  As the evening grew into night, the crowd thinned out, retreating either to their homes or to one of the Lakebottom's rooms; even the flirtatious drunk and his friends left, much to Meri's relief.  One of them tried to get her to come with them, but she talked him out of it, claiming Horam wouldn't let her leave early.  He sulked, complaining that it was going to be a cold night.  Soon the only customers remaining were the regulars—other locals, mostly, or people from Tarry across the lake, on their way to or from the fishing village.

"Did you hear the news?" an older man asked her as she brought him a plate of the night's dinner.

"We hear a lot of news, Tader," she replied, "But en't hardly ever a bit of it that means a pig's fart to Parg."

"They say," Tader continued, not really listening to her, "The king's been murdered, killed by his own blood, his brother.  They say his whole family's been wiped out in a bloody coup, his wife and sons and daughters.  The Southern Principalities are locked in anarchy, each of the little princes struggling to grab as much as they can in the chaos.  Not all of them are happy with Lord Alrin taking the throne."

"That so?"  Meri thumped a mug of ale down on the man's table, leaning up against an empty chair with her hip.  "Well, then, ye have a drink to the new king's health, yeah?  Still en't gonna make a lick of difference up here in the Lakelands—last king didn't do nothing for us northerfolk, don't expect this one'll be any different."  

"It's a bad tiding, blood killing blood.  And kingsblood, even."  As the man turned to his meal, Meri turned away and rolled her eyes; he was just talking to hear himself talk, and to spread the rumor.  He didn't actually give a damn what she had to say about it.  The customers of the Lakebottom generally didn't pay her much attention, save for a pinch or fondle here or there.  At least until their mugs went dry.

"Next thing I know," she said over her shoulder, "Ye'll be telling me it was the grimkins who did it."

"Don't ye mock me, girl—but I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out those bloody things were involved.  I heartell they've got a whole network of caves that'll take 'em anywhere in the world they want."  This was one of Tader's favorite subjects.

"And yet," Meri replied, grinning, "No one's ever seen one of them enough to know what they look like, or ever found one of these caves."  It was too easy to get him going.

"It en't a surprise at all—they kill and eat anyone they come across!"

Horam cleared his throat noisily.  "Meri, stop antagonizing the customers," he rumbled, glaring at her.  The barmaid sighed.

As she walked back to the bar to refill another customer's tankard, the door opened, letting in a blast of icy-cold air and a few errant snowflakes.  Meri looked across the room as she refilled the drink; standing in the door was a large man, broad of shoulder with dark, shaggy hair, wearing a heavy fur cloak.  He stood there awkwardly, and then asked, "You have rooms for the night?" His voice was deep and gravelly, and his accent from one of the southern sprawls—large cities populated by nobles and urchins alike.  He sounded like the former.

"Of course," Horam said from Meri's left.  "Just close the damn door and take a seat by the fire, if ye want.  The maid'll be by when she can."  

The large man nodded and closed the door, but made his way to a table at the far end of the room, away from the last customers in the common area.  When he walked Meri could see that he was cradling a bundle under his cloak, and could hear the sound of light chain-mail, the rattle of a sword belt.  "Big fella, en't he?" she said under her breath.

"Stop making moon-eyes at him, lass, ye got things to do," Horam responded.

"En't making moon-eyes," she snapped, "Just making an observation."

"Tell ye what," he said, still irritated, "Ye keep looking at the big chap.  When we're… discussin' yer pay and board later, ye just keep thinking of him."  Horam grinned at her.  "En't gonna make a difference to me who's on yer mind."  She didn't bother to reply, but walked away and return to serving the inn's customers.

After she had dropped off the full tankard of ale, Meri slipped between tables and chairs and made her way across the room to the newcomer.  "We're servin' roast chicken and carrots tonight, if'n ye're hungry, with bread and a bowl of broth."  As she spoke, he did not look up at her, but down at the bundle under his cloak.  "Or might I interest ye in a tankard of our house brew?  It's famous 'round these parts, best ale in the region. Or maybe a bottle of wine, warmed or otherwise?  City-folk like ye tend to lean thataways, sometimes."

"Just the dinner," the large man replied, his voice low, "And a wet-nurse, if there's one in town.  If she'd be sleeping this time of night, send a boy or someone to rouse her."  It was only then that he looked up at Meri from under his hood, bright green eyes seeming almost to glow—and it was only then that the barmaid saw the sleeping infant bundled in thick furs under the man's cloak.  "Anyone lacking a loose tongue."  He slid three gold coins across the table to her, a tip to ensure her own tongue remained firmly in her mouth.

Meri eyed the coins, and then looked back up at the man.  "The town's wet nurse, Rona," she said awkwardly, "Is likely already in bed, but—" She started to say something, then stopped and bit her bottom lip.  Behind her the door swung open again, and what little nerve she had just built up vanished.  The man in the heavy cloak pulled his hood up and over his face, and sunk a little lower into his chair.  "But I could feed it myself," Meri finished in a rush, dropping her voice lower.  She slipped the coins into her bodice and continued, "I can handle it.  En't no need to drag Rona out in the cold.  Soon as I get ye that meal.  Can take it upstairs if'n ye want some privacy."  The words came out awkwardly.  She sounded like she was trying to seduce him.  "I'll get ye that food first."

She turned around quick enough to miss whatever reaction her offer might have sparked, and headed for the bar to pass the order to the cook, but stopped short.  Standing in the doorway were three armed men, each bearing the colors and insignia of the royal guard.  They stood, much like the large man, in the open entrance.  Horam stormed out of the kitchen, a curse on his lips, "Shut the goddamn—oh!" He stumbled to a stop when he saw the guards.  "Welcome, kind sirs, to the Lakebottom.  Will ye be needing a room, or a meal?"

"Juss'a round o' drinks," one of the three said, smiling and walking to the bar with his companions in tow.  Behind them, the door swung shut on its own, once again cutting off the flow of cold air.  Meri slipped into the kitchen and barked an order at the cook; while he was preparing the meal, she moved back behind the bar to pour the three guards' drinks—but found Horam already hard at work at it, doing his best to look cheerful and polite.  She thought he came across looking like a fool.

The guards were not locals—they were from down south, and lowborn, Meri realized, listening to them talk.  One of the three was obviously the leader; he was a skinny man with straw-blonde hair and filthy teeth.  The other two were tall; one was lanky, the other just plain big.  Each stood at least a head over their companion.  All three wore well-treated chain-mail and carried long swords on their hips, and did nothing to conceal their weapons.  "What brings the three of ye to our humble town this eve?" Horam asked them.  Meri didn't hear the response, already half-way across the room.

"If you would, my lady—a question," the big man with the child said as Meri placed his food down on the table.  "I've a package to deliver up north, and I've been told the quickest way is through Parg and Tarry.  This is Parg, is it not?"

"Well, it en't Tarry," she replied, smiling, "But I figure ye're looking for a boat across the lake, right?"

"If it's the quickest route, yes."

"Given the weather, it won't be for long."  Meri leaned against the man's table, looking down at him.  "It'll be frozen over by the morn', and then ye'll have to go 'round the mountains.  The ferrymasters could probably break through it, but they en't gonna be running on account of the danger that poses to their hulls.  It's three or four days of riding just to get to Tarry the long way—but Tarry en't yer destination, is it?"

The man smiled from inside his hood, adjusting the sleeping child on his lap.  He kept the cloak draped over it—effectively keeping the infant concealed from the rest of the room.  "I need to get this package delivered to Ella—still at least a week north of here as I understand it, and speed is of the utmost importance."

Meri got the hint—he meant to keep the child hidden.  Even as she realized this, he glanced past her, and then carefully closed up the fur wrapping, hiding the infant completely.  She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully.  "Well, a big man like ye could take a boat across in the snow, nowish—ye got a few more good hours before it's impossible, and ye'll have to be rowing yourself, the folk who run the ferries have all gone to bed by this hour.  But with a package as fragile as that… It's colder out there than ye think, especially once ye're on the water and have no shelter save yer cloak."

"It would be best to stick to the roads.  I understand."  He frowned, glancing past the barmaid at the guards, who were still chatting with Horam.  "Unfortunately, I don't have that kind of time."

"I got that impression.  We got a dock and a boat out back, if'n ye'd be interested in renting it out instead of a room, since ye're in such a rush and all.  Hell—I en't a stranger to riding across with folk so as I can row the boat back myself."  Meri grinned, grateful for the chance to speak to someone who actually listened to her.  "There's already some ice on the water, I bet, but it en't gonna be nothing ye can't just row through and push aside, or break up."

It wasn't until the hand clapped down on her shoulder that Meri noticed the big man was no longer looking at her. "'Scuse me, wench, need t'ave a word wit' this chap."  The leader of the three guards shoved Meri out of the way roughly.  "Scurry off now an' min' yer own business."

Meri bumped into a chair and spun, ready to snap at the man who pushed her—but looking past him she saw Horam glaring at her, his arms crossed over his chest.  He shook his head, and motioned for her to return to the bar.  Grinding her teeth, the barmaid did so.  Horam started to lecture her about something, but the girl didn't  listen, choosing instead to focus on the conversation across the room.

"Seems a big fella like you matches up wit' the 'scription we been given, yeah?" the skinny, straw-headed guard was saying.  "So I'm gon' ask ya nicely, an' only once, afore we're forced t' make a mess on th' nice barkeep's floor."

"Whatever you're looking for, whoever you're looking for—I don't know what you're talking about," the big man said.  "I'm just delivering a package to Ella."

"Well y'see, I reckon y'er pretty full o' shite.  If'n y'll kindly show me an' my lads whatcha got in that parcel there, we can be on our way."  The lead guard drew his sword, letting it rest on his shoulder.  "But th' way I see it, like I said, y'ain't gonna."

"Meri, no," Horam whispered.  The barmaid had a bottle of wine in her hand, full and corked, and was slipping out from behind the bar.  "Ye keep yer ass out of it now, ye hear?"

"I'm just gonna take the nice guards a bottle of our best, ye don't gotta worry 'bout anything."  She smiled at him sweetly and pulled her wrist free of his hand.  Before he could stop her she was half-way across the common room.

"I can't show you," the big man said, "It's sealed, not to be opened until delivery.  I've got to make a living here, sir, and I don't get paid if I don't do my job properly.  Surely you can understand"

"An' I don' give a rat's arse if'n ya don' get paid."  The guard laid his sword across the table.  "Open up, or I stick ya and we do it on'r own.  Ain' nobody ever tol' us we gotta bring our man in alive, chap."

"Can I interest any of ye in a glass of the house's finest?" Meri said from behind the guard.  None of the three even glanced back at her.  She made eye contact with the big man briefly, who looked puzzled. "No?  That's fine, ye're busy.  I understand."  

The lead guard leaned in close over the big man's table.  "Funny thing, see—we ran int' this fat nurse back in Yam this mormin'.  Heard 'er talkin' 'bout how some big fella had paid her t' nurse a wee babe and keep 'er trap shut.  Clearly she weren't th' loyal type, blabbin' on 'bout it.  Blabbed on for us, too—though this was before we paid 'er in steel.  Po' lady thought we 'ad a better offer, I reckon."

Still smiling, Meri smashed the bottle over the lead guards yellow hair; he fell onto the table, then bounced up, yelling—then went down cold when she decked him, unconscious.

"Meri!" Horam yelled, finally moving from behind the bar.

"Stupid wench," one of the other two guards said, backhanding her across the face while she shook out her sore knuckles, before she could even so much as react.  She stumbled backwards, dazed, seeing red, and tripped over her own feet.  On the way down her head struck a table and her vision went all blurry.  Meri couldn't help but think that she was lucky to be conscious—the guard was wearing mail gauntlets.  It was going to leave a nasty bruise, and she was probably bleeding.

The large man took advantage of the situation, and kicked his table over.  In the same motion, he drew his sword and faced the two guards, the bundled baby held away from them.  The child immediately woke up and started crying.  Throughout the room, the few remaining customers turned to watch, even a few from the hall leading to the inn's private rooms.  The guards drew their own swords, slowly spreading out around the man with the baby.  "I'll give you two one chance," he said calmly.  "Take your friend and go.  I don't relish the thought of killing you."

"Take it outside, the lot of ye!" Horam yelled, pushing his way between the thinner of the two guards and the big man.  "I'll have none of it in my inn, ye hear?"

"Ah, shut ya trap ya old hillbilly," one of the guards groaned.

"I'm serious now," Horam continued, shoving one of the two guards.  "Not in my bar, I won't have it—guards or no.  I got a business to run."

Without another word, the closest guard slid his sword between Horam's ribs.  Before the innkeeper could fall the guard shoved him out of the way, sending his body crashing into a table.  Someone screamed, and people started rushing out of the Lakebottom and into the cold night.  Tables and chairs were knocked over in the rush, and somehow a piece of the wooden furniture fell into the hearth.

The other guard looked at his partner out the corner of his eye.  The one that killed Horam shrugged and grinned.  He said to the man with the baby, "Issa pitty we don' share that feeling, mate.  Fer you're that brat neither."  They shared a chuckle—and then attacked together, rushing at the lone man.

Nearby, Meri groaned and forced herself to get to her feet.  She blinked, bleary-eyed, and leaned on the nearest table, over which she discovered Horam's body.  She grimaced at it, and then stood upright.  Right awful git, ye had it coming a hundred times over, she thought.  At the far end of the room, the fire was spreading from table to chair to table, a huge blaze engulfing most of the hearth-end of the common room.  "Shite," she hissed.  One of the guards stumbled backwards into her, knocking her down again.  As she struggled to get out from under the armored guard, Meri got a look at the large man fighting.  Clearly, he outmatched his two attackers, and in the brief moment that he had one alone he skewered him, kicked the body off his blade, and spun to defend himself from the remaining attacker—all with only one hand free.

By then the roof was on fire.  "Oi!" she shouted over the noise.  "We have to get outta here or all that fighting ye're doing en't gonna mean a fig!"

The big man just grunted in reply, and a moment later swung his sword down and into his opponent's shoulder, his blade practically ignoring the chain-mail the man was wearing.  It cut deep, into his chest, and the man fell bonelessly to the floor.  Meri couldn't tell if it was the sword that was so impressive, or the man's raw strength.  "You say there's a boat in the back," he said, looking down at the baby in his free arm.   "Take me to—"  The big man stumbled forward, running into Meri, pushed from behind.  The straw-haired guard had his arms wrapped around the big man's waist, a kind of terrified desperation in his eyes.  Grimacing, his opponent slammed him back against a table, knocking the air out of him and loosening his grip.  Before the guard could recover the big man spun and cleanly removed his head from his shoulders.

"The boat," he finished, panting.  The child was still wailing.

But Meri was just staring at him, her eyes wide.  Jutting out of the chainmail under his sword-arm was the long handle of a dagger, the blade of which was buried all the way to the hilt.  The big man hadn't even noticed it.  When he realized what Meri was looking at, he reached up and touched it—and coughed.  His own eyes went wide, and the barmaid could see flecks of red on his lips.

"Outside," he grunted.  There was a gurgle in his voice now.  "Quick.  Outside."  It was clear from the sounds in his throat that the dagger had got him in the lung.

When they made it out of the inn the big man collapsed to his knees in the piling snow, which continued to fall around them.  In the light of the burning building he held the infant in front of his face, tears streaming down.  "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"We need to get ye help," Meri shouted, starting to jog away, to find somebody—but the big man grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

"No time."  He held out the baby.  "No time.  Yours now."  Each word took a colossal effort to get out of his mouth.  The warrior was fading fast.  "Isaac," he gasped.  "Name's Isaac.  Keep him safe."

Meri took the baby, brows furrowing.  "I don—"

The big man shook his head, and grinned.  "Yours now.  Probably the best."  He fell onto his back, arms spread.  "Always been yours.  Remember that."

The barmaid was confused—but it was too late to ask questions.  The man was dead; she'd never even learned his name.

From there things became fuzzy.  At some point she found herself back at Horam and Karin's house, just inside the front door.  The child had finally stopped crying somewhere between the inn and the house.  "What's all the commotion out there?"  Karin was staring at her.  "Why en't ye at the inn?  Who'd ye sleep with to get a cloak that nice?  Was it worth the beating?" she snapped, angrily.  Her anger quickly turned to confusion:  "Is that a baby under there?"

Meri closed the gap between herself and the other woman and, with her free hand, slapped Karin hard across the face.  Before the older woman could react Meri grabbed her by the collar of her nightgown with one hand and shoved her back against the wall.  Karin's head struck the wood and she let out a grunt.  When she struggled to get free Meri slammed her back again, stunning her into submission.

"Now ye listen to me ye goddamn old bitch," Meri hissed between her teeth, directly into Karin's face.  "Yer husband's dead, his inn's burning to the ground right now."  She paused to let the information sink in.  "Now ye've given me a place to stay and for that I owe ye, horrible as ye might be, and I en't gonna leave ye twisting in the wind."

"Wha—"

"But ye and me, we've got to get something straight here between us, and now," Meri continued.  "Without the Lakebottom we're both out a livelihood, and with my son here we're gonna have to rely on each other, ye understand me?  And that means ye en't gonna be talking to me that way anymore."

Karin gasped out a response:  "Yer bastard's dead, Meri, and not long buried.  That boy en't yers."

"Like hell it en't.  And don't ye goddamn forget it."  Meri let her landlady go and went upstairs to her room.  Behind her she heard Karin curse, and then rush out into the night, slamming the door behind her.  The barmaid sat down on her sparse bed and looked down at the child in her arms.  "Isaac," she said quietly.  She slipped the cloak off her shoulders—it was the big man's, made of heavy fur, far nicer than anything she could have afforded.  She didn't remember taking it off his body.  She wasn't sure how she'd been able to do so, as big as he was.  She undid the laces of her bodice and dropped it to the floor.  "Isaac," she said again, testing the name with her tongue, before pulling her blouse down off of her shoulder and letting the quiet boy nurse.