The inn was rather dingy and had seen better days, clearly. It was the sort of place one usually found Knights or Guardsmen, but at the moment, both were sitting in the taproom—or rather, a Knight and a four-man honor guard, courtesy of King Erra Kelanister.

"Damn the snow," Ilyan muttered. "We were only a ride from the next Knight's Inn."

"If we'd let you brave that blizzard in the dark, your father would have killed us."

Ilyan half-shrugged and took a gulp of his watered down ale. This wasn't the sort of surrounding he was used to; palace life had spoiled him. Even the Knight's Complex on Cresula was fairly nice, and the Knights were all well cared for. On the main islands of Kalatsu, there were the Knight's Inns, a string of inns run by retired Knights, where any Knight could stay free while travelling. They were all nearly identical, and for the non-Knights, expensive, but deservedly so; they were probably the best inns on Kalatsu, and Ilyan and his guards would have been sitting comfy in one if the weather hadn't forced them to stop early.

Not, Ilyan reminded himself, that I need guards. But his father had insisted that whenever Ilyan traveled overland, he would travel with an escort. "You may not be the Heir anymore," his father had stated in a tone that allowed for no argument from his sixteen-year-old-son, "but damned if I'm going to lose you. And besides, I want grandchildren."

Normally, Ilyan wouldn't even bother traveling overland, but he hadn't gone straight home from Cresula. Jall had been taking the Tunnels to Kal'Hara to spend some time with his family and they'd invited Ilyan to join them for a few days. Ilyan was always happy to stay with them, Jall's son Keres was his closest friend.

But since he wasn't quite able to use the Tunnels yet himself, much to his frustration, he was traveling the slow way to Ka'Ishka. He just couldn't decide if he was happy to be heading home or not. He was never really happy to leave Keres', where he was always treated like part of the family—he and Keres could almost have been brothers, and Jall was like a second father to him, which had been especially important for the last few years, when he and his actual father fought.

But on the other hand, home was home. He argued with his father a lot, true, but it wasn't so bad now that he was away on Cresula most of the time. It was only before he'd left that their fights were truly explosive... Ilyan remembered the terrible things he'd said to his father, but in all fairness, his father had said some awful things back. But that was in the past now, at least mostly; Ilyan had run away to Cresula to become a Knight, and after a few months, Jall had convinced both Kelanisters to start talking again.

Ilyan idly finished his mug and set it down, letting his gaze wander. He watched as a door opened from the kitchen and a very small girl—he guessed her to be six or seven—made her way out, carrying a very large tray. He could see it coming moments before it happened, and winced as she tripped. The tray went flying as she struggled to catch herself, and the mugs and plates clattered off. Some of them broke, all of them spilled.

"Poor girl," he commented, but didn't yet know how badly off she was. The door swung open again, and a beefy man came stomping out of the kitchen.

"You useless klutz!" he yelled, grabbing her by the arm and slamming her into one of the tables. Ilyan narrowed his eyes.

"Do you have any idea how much it costs to replace those mugs? To refill all of that? Do you?"

"'m sorry, Uncle," the girl whimpered, trying to shy away from him, but he still gripped her arm tightly—his hand could wrap all the way around it.

"Sorry doesn't replace glassware!" he snarled.

Ilyan glanced over at the captain of the guards who sat with him. "If he hits her—" he started.

"It's not your fight, Ilyan," the man muttered, though he knew it would do no good. Ilyan was already watching the girl and the man again.

"Would you back me if it came to that?" Ilyan asked, his gaze not wavering as the man slunk back to the kitchen.

"We'd have no choice. But the last thing you need is to get involved with a bar room brawl," came the captain's advice, but he nodded to his men, putting them on alert. Ilyan stood and waded through tables over to where the girl was trying to clean the mess.

"Are you all right?" he asked, crouching down to help her pile pieces of broken glassware on the tray.

She gave him a scared look and nodded, and he cursed mentally when he realized his hood had fallen down and the whole taproom could see he was a Knight. They probably wouldn't be afraid of him, most people appreciated the Knights, but they were a rare enough sight in towns like these to startle people. It was almost possible that the girl had never seen one before.

"Did he hurt you?" Ilyan asked.

The girl shook her head no, though hesitantly—a lie, Ilyan was certain, but apparently she was more afraid of her uncle than she was of him.

"What's your name?" he asked, hoping for an actual verbal response.

"Jereh," the girl finally squeaked in a very small voice.

He picked up the last piece of glass and put it on the tray. "Do you need help carrying that?" he offered.

"N-no," she stuttered.

"All right." He straightened up and glanced towards the kitchen door, only to see he was being watched from it. This wasn't the same man, it was a woman, skinny and tired looking. She looked as though she probably smelled of cheap perfume.

She saw him watching her back and disappeared back into the kitchen, not even holding the door long enough to help Jereh. Ilyan took his seat again. "Disgusting," he muttered. "This whole inn reeks of... Of..."

"Of people who didn't grow up Princes?" one of the guards suggested wryly.

Ilyan rolled his eyes. "So what if I appreciate a comfortable life? Why shouldn't I?" he demanded. The guard shrugged, then gestured to something behind Ilyan. He glanced back towards the kitchen again, to see the man walking out, dragging the little girl by her arm, the woman trailing them by several feet. Ilyan rose to meet them.

"M'lord Knight," the man greeted him. He shoved Jereh out towards Ilyan. "Was this girl bothering you? I assure you if she was—"

"No, sir. No bother at all," Ilyan answered shortly. Seeing Jereh standing, he realized she was older than he'd thought; probably nine or ten, but starved and small for her age. "I thought she might appreciate some help."

"Help?" the man asked, releasing Jereh's arm, then, "And does my lord Knight like children?"

"I suppose. I've never really thought about it."

"Ahhhh..." The man glanced backwards at the woman, who nodded a little. "I see. And... Would m'Lord like to play with Jereh, then? In his room, perhaps?"

There was a long silence. Ilyan was almost too shocked to speak, then finally sputtered, "Are you suggesting that I—that she—" he stopped and glanced back at the guards. "You are in a lot of trouble, sir," he snapped, then balled a fist and punched the man squarely in the face.

The man stumbled backwards, the woman screamed, and a few of the inn's patrons leapt to their feet. The guards all stood carefully, ready to fight if needed, and Ilyan crossed his arms over his chest. The man straightened.

"How dare you—" he started.

"How dare you, you sick son of a bitch," Ilyan interrupted. The man balled a fist and Ilyan shook his head. "You don't want to fight me," Ilyan added dangerously.

"You think I'm scared of you, just 'cause you're a Knight?" the man half-yelled. "I can rumble with the best of 'em, and you aren't so big."

"You really don't want to—"

The Captain stepped up to Ilyan's side, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Sir, you do not want to get in to a fight with this man," he said calmly. "You may not have noticed it, but only one Knight is bothered with an honor guard when he travels."

"Yeah? Who the hell are you?" the man demanded of Ilyan, who grinned. He ran a finger along the chain the hung from his neck, freeing the charm of the necklace from the folds of his thick travelling clothes.

"Ilyan Kelanister," he answered, letting the man see the symbol on the charm. "I trust you know what that means."

The man narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Ilyan crouched again, down to Jereh's level. "Are you all right, Jereh?" he asked sincerely. "Do they take good care of you here?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but the man said her name in a dark, warning tone of voice and she stopped.

Ilyan straightened, turned to the Captain and said calmly, "If he tries to interrupt her again, would you please break his jaw, Captain?"

"Yes, Highness," the guardsman answered. He stepped forward, closer to the inn keeper, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't try," he hissed.

The man said nothing, and Ilyan returned his attention to Jereh. "It's all right to talk to me, Jereh. You can tell me the truth. You can tell me anything you want," Ilyan promised her.

She started to answer him, but couldn't find the words. Instead, she burst in to tears suddenly and threw herself forward at Ilyan. He caught her and wrapped a protective arm around her. "Jereh," he said calmly, "my name is Ilyan Kelanister. You might have heard of me before."

"Are you the King?" she asked in an awed whisper.

"Not quite," he said gently, finding a napkin and dabbing away some of her tears. "But I'm his son. And he wants me to help make sure people are happy in his country. Are you happy here?"

She shook her head no. "I thought as much," he said, mostly to himself, then stood again, and addressed the Captain of his guard first. "I think perhaps we should make for the Knight's Inn after all."

"Ilyan.." the Captain said tiredly.

"With Jereh. I don't want her here a minute longer than necessary." Ilyan glanced back at the other guards. "Unless you're afraid of a little snow?"

"That is hardly a little snow," the Captain pointed out. "That's a full scale blizzard."

"Imagine that. I hadn't noticed." He glanced down at Jereh, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Jereh and I aren't scared of the snow, are we?" he asked her, winking.

She shook her head no.

"Well, there you have it. We'll go on. You're welcome to stay here or join us as you chose." He turned to the innkeeper. "Send someone to get my things while I see to my horse, please. And be grateful I don't have my father shut this place down entirely."

"Yes. Your Highness," the innkeeper spat and slunk off to do as ordered.

"Ilyan..." the guard sighed. "We'll go. But your father will kill you."

"He can try if he wants. It's been a few months since we had a really good fight." He ruffled Jereh's hair absently. "I'm just saying. If I had a daughter, I wouldn't let her stay a minute in this place. I wouldn't let anyone hurt her. Not ever."

Author's Notes:
Yeah, so Jereh is Cossette from Les Mis. Ooops. But it was declared readable by Leah, so I'm gonna pretend she's not. But this is where a lot of her character motivation in Season Two comes from, and it's nice to get to write Ilyan as a mere mortal for a change. He was very.. Um... Impetuous? Something like that, anyway. But I lurve him.
-B

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