Isak stares at the ceiling, lying on the coarse mat in one of the rooms on the inn’s second floor. He throws and catches a yet ripe apple up and down with one hand — both out of boredom and restlessness.

He has spent around a week in this place since being kicked out of barracks. He could have gone home, sure, but Isak figures that announcing to his mother the news about being dismissed from the service won't be a great idea, considering how much hope she put into him walking on the path of guard duty.

And then, there’s —

the Penance Trial.

It passes through his mind again and again, no matter how many times he tries to chase the thought away. For some reason, it’s both exciting and terrifying. Exciting for the prospects, which lie at the end of the challenge, and terrifying for the unknown and a considerable chance of failure.

And that very failure can bring tremendous punishment.

But now, there is nowhere to go — there are fewer roads to choose from. The decision is in stone and Isak doesn’t want to run and cover.

He hears the beginning of the night’s festivities, resounding down the floor, in joyful shouts and clanking of cups after the toast. The people were becoming louder and louder but still sounded half-sober. Those feasts were an everyday occurrence. Even the guests, who begin their workday early morning, are not a rarity to the inn’s evening events.

As a guard — a former guard — those celebrations would often bring trouble to him and his colleagues on the night shifts. There were no small number of mischievous drunken people, who would cause inconveniences from time to time.

Although, the prospect of tomorrow’s event might bring an irreversible change to his way of life, Isak doesn’t hear the call to spend the remaining bits of time on entertainment, or drink to the last, or find someone to spend the night with. It only invites a feeling of lethargy — like none of that matters. No fun, or boredom — nothing. What matters, as Isak imagines, is that he will receive his fortunes, if he gets to be the sacred Royal Chevalier, and deliver them home — to his mother. And she’s going to have a nice, and peaceful life at the sunset of her old years.

It's all that matters. Nothing else.

He tries to fall asleep again after a few faulty tries. And each time, there is a new reason for disturbance: nervousness for tomorrow; agitation; worry; antsy thoughts; feeling of being unsettled; and also — worn-out mat with a hard floor underneath; a bright street lamp, which — of course — shines directly into the place he rented; the smell of rotten wooden floor, caused by the humidity; a loud feast in the main hall and noisy couple from the next room, letting everybody know about their act of love.

And also, there is — a hunger. Right! Isak didn’t even notice how he skipped the supper, his mind was way too occupied with the interrogation and events, which would arise after.

Maybe, a full stomach can calm his mind.

He decides to get downstairs and order a cheap dish to ease the hunger — granted, he doesn’t have much money to spare.

As expected, the celebration downstairs is progressing smoothly: people interrupt and shout over one another, laugh at the smallest of reasons and argue over nothing. And if Isak’s prediction is correct, what comes next — is a local fight with a couple of broken noses and lost teeth. Such is a tradition.

As the tables in the hall are already busy and full, he chooses to stay at a counter.

“Oh, Isak, I thought I wouldn’t see you today,” the innkeeper and — simultaneously — a cook greets him.

After greeting back, he attempts to place an order, “I need somethi—”

“Done!” she slams a bowl on the counter, with the contents spilling over. A green broth with low amount of vegetables, but a thick amount of fat to the point of turning the dish viscous. Plus, a bone with meat of unknown origin is floating somewhere within. “Meal is on our establishment today!”

“It’s fine, I can pay for it,” Isak stirs the dish, trying to put effort into not letting the broth’s mixture drown the spoon inside its depths. The presentation isn’t the best, but it’s hardly something that he cared about at the moment.

“Take it as thanks for renting the room… besides, me and my late husband” — after those words, she closes her eyes, takes one quick sip of some guest’s unfinished ale as a tribute to the departed soul — “are forever grateful that you’ve saved our inn from unwanted visitors many times, so… dine away!”

Isak nods with quiet Thanks as he doesn’t have the energy to argue about whether he welcomes this expression of the tavern’s hospitality or not.

“So, how’s it?” the woman asks. “Are you the future Che-Va-Lier?” she exaggerates the last word to make it more pompous.

Isak takes one more spoonful of broth, before raising his shoulders and answering, “Probably.”

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“Oh,” the woman raises her brows, demonstratively showing her amazement. “So, there is an aristocrat now dining in this very place. Monsieur!” she laughs in a deep voice.

Isak chuckles at that notion to seem polite and righ after — comes back to the rest of the meal.

“Maybe… some wine for the occasion?” She raises a dusted bottle from under the counter, the liquid inside looks visibly stale.

Isak shakes his head, “Nothing to celebrate yet. It’s not decided yet.”

“Well, well, how serious!” she says in a scolding tone and hides the bottle back to where it came from for, probably, another ten years until occasion arrives, “You, youngsters, shouldn’t be like tha—”

She gets interrupted by the sudden guest, bumping into the counter and slamming his fist against its wooden surface, “Beer!”

An old fisherman on his usual stroll to the inn after working hours. Though, it seems, he appeared not completely sober here, to begin with.

“What happened this time? You haven’t caught anything and now drowning your sorrows?”

“The opposite!” his face breaks into a wide smile with a few missing teeth and one front golden one. “I caught so much today, I need to celebrate.”

“So, It’s all the same for you. Triumph or tragedy,” the woman clicks her tongue, complaining, but a second later — still pours a large cup for the regular customer. “Right, Isak?”

“Right,” he agrees by an impulse, not even understanding what for.

“And speaking about you!” she exclaims, it didn’t take long for her to switch the topic. “Look, we have a noble knight here!”

The fisherman shifts his gaze, noting Isak’s presence. Surveys him up and down, “Yeah, no surprise, if I looked as young as him, I would try for that too.”

“But… you were young once,” the innkeeper confronts.

“It was…! It was different! I wasn’t like that!” he argues, his speech blurring from the amount of alcohol. “If you heard right, I said looked… I have all the needed qualities otherwise. That’s all!” he proclaims as he finishes the cup. Then, wipes his mouth with a shirt’s sleeve, “More.”

“Oh, and here I thought, you didn’t go because they don’t allow the knights to drink?”

“Um, yes, yes…! That’s the main reason I didn’t!” the fisherman giggles, playing along for self-deprecation.

“Can't drink… and what else are you not allowed to do, Isak?” the woman asks, curious to know the possible limitations of that prestigious title.

At that point, Isak assumed he was already excluded from the conversation, when the attention came back right at him, “It sounded like… a lot of things.”

“A lot… '' the innkeeper puts on an expression of pity. “So, even something minor… like swear words?”

“No speaking in general. But that included.”

“Vow of silence?” the fisherman specifies. “I could take that one no problem.”

The woman chuckles, “Sweet Deuron, who are you trying to fool… Your vow wouldn’t be stronger than a cup of beer.”

“I spend hours silent at the river all the time, or the fish would scatter.”

“Yeah, and then you come to my inn and jabber on until the middle of the night.”

“Not without your help.”

“Ugh, just look at him, Isak. What a shame…” she says in the scornful voice of a teacher again.

Currently, Isak senses that he has to finish with the broth, or he fears this chatter would use up all the energy that he received from the meal.

“So, what else is there? Vow of chastity?”

“Of course,” Isak answers, scrambling the last bits from the bottom of the bowl and trying to tear the meat from the bone in a hurry.

“That one is not for me,” the fisherman, grinning, intrudes with his comment once more. “In my time, I… with many girls—”

The fisherman stops as the innkeeper glances at him with a gaze threatening enough to send shivers down the spine.

“No, you didn’t. Don’t even start with your tales,” she puts a stop to him sharing that invaluable — and, sure, completely truthful!— experience.

“It’s all tales for you! All tales!” he downs another cup.

Suddenly — the sound of broken glass.

“Hey!” someone cries out from the main hall, trying to climb up the bench to sound louder and almost falling in the process. “All the bottles are empty! Where is the refill?!”

The innkeeper can’t help but grumble at such hostility in her precious inn, “Right away, you lowlife!” She yells, before retreating into the storage to find the additional drinks.

While she has gone away, the fisherman suddenly declares, whacking his hand on Isak’s shoulder and almost making him spill the broth, “Be strong, Isak!”

It’s not that he needed encouragement or that sacrifices, vows and amends were bothering him much. In forethought, maybe, they would. But not at the very moment.

“It doesn’t sound that bad,” the fisherman continues, “and you might even see that freak of a Prince.”

“Leroenn?” Isak repeats, in a hushed voice.

“Yep, him! You hear, one of my colleagues told me a couple of years back,” he looks around to check if anyone else, uninvited, is paying attention to his words, “he was working at the port as a sailor. And he was there when they opened that new port in the north of the country — in the city of Orret or something — and to commemorate it, the Royal Family was present… with their son!” he raises his finger, displaying that it’s the part where you pay close attention. “And he could see! Imagine!”

“Sorry, I don’t get…” Isak replies, losing the drunk man’s train of thought.

“I don’t get it either! He could see!” he repeats. “With that white sheet all over his face, he could still see!”

The man clears his throat — his words were said in a way too excited manner in contrast to the intention of staying low on the topic.

“What nonsense were you telling him?” The innkeeper returns after serving the unruly customers; her tone isn’t angry, but rather lighthearted.

“Tips on how to survive without a drink here and there.”

The woman laughs, “Yeah, you are the one for that advice.”

As her laughter proves contagious, the fisherman cackles in return. Engaged in their further gossip about town’s people; talk about raising prices on sugar and bread; the coming weather and how the nagging pain in the fisherman’s knees is a sign of the upcoming rain, — they don’t notice, how Isak empties the bowl and quietly leaves, having no wish to disrupt them.