The air in the Frankfurt tavern was thick with the scent of pine shavings, stale tobacco, and the fragrance of the seasonal grapefruit ale. Customers, mostly off-duty guards, dock workers, and a scattering of mercenaries, raised their heavy mugs in cheerful toasts.
"Ahhh! That hits the spot! Ollie! I will follow you into battle even for a barrel of this!" A hulking man, whose enormous sword rested against the bench behind him, shouted good-naturedly above the noise.
The barkeeper, a wiry man named Ollie whose apron was perpetually damp, wiped down the counter.
"Just pay your damn tab first! A dead man is bad for business!" Ollie yelled back, his voice surprisingly cutting through the din.
The tavern was boisterous, dimly lit, and filled with good-natured laughter. It was a place where all people could bass among the atmosphere. While sharing a drink.
The entrance opened, Rupert walked in, being greeted by the barkeeper Ollie.
"Rupert! Tell that buffoon to pay his tab or he will be the one flowing out of the barrel instead of my ale!" Immediately threatening Rupert friend is his way of greeting.
"You heard him Paul, pay or get stuffed in a barrel." He nonchalantly told the owner of the resting sword before heading over to his seat.
"Alright alright, Here Ollie! I only brought a little over 600 coins to pay off part of it. I will pay the rest after I come back from a job" Paul gently placed down the small sack of coins beside the man. His hulking physique trying to seem dinty in hopes that he would be griven another pint.
Ollie didn't stop wiping. His eyes didn't leave the counter. "You better not come back as a corpse. I don't want to sell your rotting body to a dark mage and barely break even" Pouring a pint as he slides it to Paul.
The barkeeper Ollie while rough around his core, doesn't want to lose a paying customer.
Rupert slid into the corner booth, setting the small gray and white kitten gently down beside him. The air here was marginally quieter, thick with the smell of old leather and wood. He accepted a fresh pint from Ollie, who had followed him over.
"You're in a mood," Ollie observed, leaning a hip against the booth. "A good mood. That's usually reserved for payday or the demise of a particularly annoying noble. Which is it?"
Rupert took a long drink of the citrusy ale, savoring the cool bite. "Neither. Just finished a job."
"A job that didn't end with a dead body, by the sounds of it," Paul, the man with the large sword, interrupted, sliding into the bench opposite Rupert with a grunt.
Another man carrying dual swords snatched a handful of dried fruits and nuts from the communal bowl. "You look... amused. Was Grem yelling particularly high-pitched this time?"
"No, and did you wash your hands Declan?" He questioned the man that came over as he pushed the bowl away from the kitten.
"Yes Mother, now spill it. I would like to attend my own funeral someday" Declan shoved Paul further into the booth. Wanting to hear some gossip from his usually kept to himself friend.
A faint smile—the one Bethel had barely caught a glimpse of—touched the corner of Rupert's mouth, quickly vanishing beneath his beard. "Grem was Grem. The entertainment was provided by someone else."
Paul nudged Declan to stop shoving him. "Oh? A woman? Was she fast? Did she put up a fight?" Paul's eyes sparkled with the coarse curiosity of a man who dealt in physical confrontations.
Rupert gently stroked the kitten, whose purr vibrated against the worn wood of the table. "She was armed with a small sledgehammer, argued theology, and didn't negotiated her way out of trouble. But understood where she stand."
Ollie burst into a short, wheezing laugh. "A sledgehammer? Against you? Was she looking to demolish her own knees?"
"She was looking for more than that," Rupert corrected, his voice losing its amusement and adopting a thoughtful weight. "She was arguing the law, not her survival. She called herself a Divorce Lawyer."
The tavern noise seemed to fade momentarily for the three men. Ollie stopped wiping the bar top; Paul paused with his hand halfway to his mouth. As for Declan, he tossed a peanut in the air and caught it in his mouth.
"A what?" Paul finally managed, his voice confused. "A Divorce Lawyer? What's that? A fancy new word for female lawyers?"
"No, you idiot, having you been listening to the rumors that been going around lately." Declan spoke up. "A Divorce Lawyer is someone that help end marriages. Much like a business and criminal lawyers. Except this one goes against the belief that marriage is eternity."
Paul's massive hand slammed down on the table, startling the kitten, which immediately buried its head deeper into Rupert's tunic. "That's incredible!"
Even the barkeeper nods his head, "To think our former Knights Captain would cross paths with the rumored Lady Lawyer. The devil must be laughing his head off right about now."
Rupert soothing the kitten that gotten afraid by his friend's enthusiasm. He didn't say anything word when Ollie talked about his old profession. The three man notice how silent Rupert became. The two friends glared daggers at Ollie, making him realize his slip of a tongue.
"Cough, well, what happened next? With that Lady Lawyer?" Dodging responsibility in rectifying his words.
Rupert didn't mind it, he knew Ollie couldn't take his words back even if he could.
"She asked my opinion on the Church's decree, and it turned out we were in agreement," Rupert stated simply. "She saw the difference between faith and oppression. And she's looking for a client I saw at the market." Not giving them more then that, finding what Bethel client is experiencing as a private matter.
He thought about his meeting with Bethel no more than over an hour ago. 'She isn't the sort to throw her weight around like others. Even when I tried to scared her off with some manual labor. She accepted it in exchange for answering a few questions.' The kitten started nibbling his tunic.
'Miss Green... her eyes were overflowing with questions. What a curious mind she been dealt with. She reminds me about someone who also commits acts of absolute recklessness...' Taking another sip of the ale Ollie brought over. His mood returning to its neutral state as he asked his friends, moving the conversation away from Bethel line of work.
"Has the newsletters from the Emeraldleaf Empire came in yet?"
"Don't tell me you are still wondering about the object of your admiration! The youngest imperial princess of Emperor Theron's children. Princess Ophelia." Declan's voice was laced with an exaggerated, teasing sarcasm.
Rupert's neutral expression didn't waver, but he took a slow, deliberate sip of his ale. The noise of the tavern—the shouts of ale-fueled camaraderie, the clink of mugs—washed over the booth.
"A man is allowed to follow politics," Rupert responded, his tone flat. He gently adjusted the small kitten, which was now asleep against his chest.
Paul, always interested in battle over books, scoffed. "Politics? You mean her latest stunt? The one where she pulled off a nobleman wig? Or the one where she jumped off a clock tower and landed on a tree where a kid was too afraid to climb down from?"
"That was years ago! Ever since Princess Ophelia got married to some Count. Poof, vanish from the public eye the moment wedding bells stopped ringing." Declan shapely told his muscled headed friend.
"You can fooled anyone Rupert, even our favorite buffoon here. But I remember while we were still training in the military together. You would always read those newsletters that comes once a month."
"The day that someone can admir another across the seas from monthly newsletters alone. It's astonishing while also being meaningless. Your an orphan that enter the military when you were hardly ten. While a imperial princess was being catered from head to toe at four years old." Declan made his point clear.
For Rupert, the higher he climbs, would not compare to the highest place this princess was born on to. Declan wasn't mocking Rupert, yet he witnesse the day were his friend admiration. Has actually been far deeper than it was originally thought it to be. The day a single newsletter announced Princess Ophelia marriage.
"I checked the recent newsletter, nothing about the princess shown up. Not even an imperial grandchild on the way. It's seems she living her life quietly with a loving husband. Where you are almost 34 and still haven't courted any lovely ladies yet." His words carries weight, he didn't want his friend to pine over a married woman of the highest status. Rupert deserve a chance to one day settle down with someone within reach.
"I wasn't thinking about her that why. It like you said Declan, years already passed. But that doesn't change my admiration of her." Rupert's voice was low, carrying a note of finality that settled the matter of the Princess, at least for the moment.
He finished his ale, the grapefruit fragrance clinging faintly to his beard. Paul tries to pet the sleeping kitten, instead waking it up and getting hissed at.
"I have no intention in getting married Declan. I wouldn't want to tie down a woman and not be able to provide for her." That's the reality Rupert lives in. He no longer has a stable job and even currently working to repay a loan from his Guild Master.
Once he finishes this last job, perhaps he will become a farmer, living the reminder of his life growing crops. Maybe get a job as a baker or work here in Ollie tavern. But marriage? He doesn't believe there is anyone out there wanting a man as damage as him.
"I'm heading to my room." Scooping up the now annoyed kitten and tucking it securely away from Paul, Rupert headed toward the staircase.
Declan, Paul, and Ollie watched him go silently.
"Why did you bring up marriage after he talked about the Lady Lawyer?" Ollie quietly questioned Declan, wiping down the bar with a slow, thoughtful motion.
"Is it wrong to wish for my oldest friend to have a family of his own one day?" Declan replied, his gaze still fixed on the empty stairwell.
"It the past, he did mention he wanted a family. But that was before the tragedy that took the lives of his unit." Paul somberly said.
While the night lives on, so does the wounds being carried.