Of Witches And Wolves | M. Helvar ✐

09 | The Inn

The cold is unforgiving for those not used to it and by the saints—Rowan hated the cold. Most of their time is spent inside—working. Rowan found a job in a bakery when they first got to Fjerda. The hours were long but the work was simple. It was smoldering in the back. Three cobble stoves cooked the bread to perfection when done right. It hadn't taken long for Rowan to learn the ways of the bakery.

Despite not seeing many people, their simple job allowed Rowan to gain important insight into Fjerda and her people. They would often eavesdrop on the conversations in the front. Many Drüskelle boys would come in and get hard bread for their trips out. It was crumbly and dry but could last a while.

Rowan would sometimes have to deliver bread to different Fjerdan households. The stark difference between the heat of the oven room and the cold of the outside left Rowan feeling sickly. Some days they appreciated the dry air, it was a sweet relief on the hotter days.

"Sweetheart we have a delivery to the inn three walks down, Lev is out." They nodded and took note of what to take to the back.

Despite how terrible Rowan's Fjerdan accent was, they understood the language perfectly. Fjerdan slang however would confuse Rowan, "three walks" meant something along the lines of "three miles". Rowan didn't understand why they'd say that instead but they picked up on it soon enough. Rowan pretended not to speak to avoid exposing themself.

It was a day trip so they used the sled to carry the goods.

—

The inn felt like hundreds of miles away despite being so close. But there was thick, heavy snow that was dropping an inch an hour. It was slowing them down a lot. Eventually, they saw lights amidst the dark blue sky.

Rowan sighed in relief, feeling thankful for some sight of human life. On a normal day, everyone would be out working but Rowan suspected today was some kind of holiday. They didn't know what holiday but there were hardly any people out and about.

And unlike most other countries with snow, Fjerda doesn't slow down when they get snowed in–they dig themselves out. Rowan could appreciate the hardworking nature of Fjerdans but was still always on edge. They were hundreds of miles in Fjerdan territory, surrounded by their enemies.

Fjerdans were more of Ravka's enemy than Rowan's but the point still stands.

The lights grew brighter and so did Rowan's resolve. Their back and knees ached terribly from pulling the sled for those gruelling three miles. Three miles is nothing for Rowan back in Ravka, but there isn't a constant layer of snow and ice making the ground so hard to walk on.

Finally, they reached the porch, the snow melted back against the house–they salted the ground before the snow. Rowan wished everyone would do that.

"I've got goods from the bakery on Helm!" They called out, knowing better than rushing up the stairs like a madman. It was improper to just enter someone's property without properly warning them.

A tall blond man opened the door with a smile, "Hello, thank you, thank you!" His Fjerdan accent was thick and Rowan was just glad he didn't ask too many questions. "I will be out in a moment, come up and get warm, child."

They accepted the offer gladly and rushed up the stairs toward the open door. The inside of the inn was just as Rowan expected. All wood and all brown and warm, it was beautiful. Save for some of the decorations that made the hair on Rowan's neck prick up in fear.

Rowan pulled their scarf down and ripped the tight hat off of their head, breathing in the warm hair deeply. "Thank you." They stood in front of the fire for a moment while the man dressed for the weather.

"We will go around the back to bring the goods to the kitchen," They nodded in agreement.

Once he was ready, the pair left and went back out into the cold. Rowan walked behind the sled as the man dragged it up and around the building. "The storm came in so suddenly," He spoke.

"Yes, it did." Rowan tried to keep their talking to a minimum.

"We appreciate you bringing this despite the nasty weather, I know it is hard for foreigners."

Rowan couldn't help but laugh and nod, "Very much so."

—

Rowan was invited inside the inn for a meal and some rest and they accepted it thankfully. "I'm spent." They admitted while eating beef stew in front of the fire.

The warmth was so nice and comfortable. A part of Rowan wanted to think about how they would have died if they didn't get some rest. That was, of course, an exaggeration. Training back at Little Palace prepared Rowan for enduring uncomfortable situations but nothing could truly prepare someone for Fjerda.

Everyone knew it was cold but nobody spoke of how harsh it could be. It was almost like the land could tell when you were an outsider. The snow seemed to follow you around, the wind chill freezing your lashes and bruising any exposed skin it could grab at. Chapped cheeks and blue lips were a staple for any adventurous tourist. Not that many people come to Fjerda of their own volition.

People like the sights of Shu or the gambling halls in Kerch much more than the painful and abusive weather in Fjerda.

"Thank you for the stew, what do I owe you?"

The innkeeper shook her head, "Nothing, dear. We've got to look out for you young kids these days."

Rowan just nodded and began dressing to return to their home. It was a small apartment in a complex that they shared with two different families. The communal bathroom was kept clean by the two mothers and Rowan appreciated it.

Some of Fjerda was nice and Rowan liked it. Their fellow Grisha at Little Palace were kind of slobs and it irked Rowan. They hardly cleaned up after themselves and in the shared spaces mess only followed. Even the highest-ranking Grisha were messy. It was astounding.

Maybe it's the nature of Ravkans to expect others to clean up behind them. But it was disgusting in their communal showers and bathroom when Rowan first got to Little Palace. Thankfully once they joined their group, things seemed much cleaner.