Esgaulegor

Es humoured Korvynn and the girl with her harp. At least, that's how it started.

Another tale Korvynn insisted telling or having told about himself. If it were anyone else, Es would have made an excuse and left. But something about Korvynn's open-book behaviour was still so refreshing.

So Es humoured them.

Then the harper started her song.

It was a song about Korvynn. Or someone Korvynn knew. Probably that girl he tried to bring up a few times. The one he had lost.

He waited outside the gates of Bree. The stowaway emerged after an hour or so. Quicker than he'd expected, especially after seeing Lemrad show up at the bar. He'd thought the woman might entertain the fellow for a while.

When she approached, she seemed in good spirits. That was always striking. Taken for granted given how often he'd been near her, to the point he was strangely used to it.

Bree was quaint. A little too quaint for what Es and Nen were used to, despite whatever impressions they gave the locals.

They rode south of Bree, into Herne. There, lodgings were secured. A house; more spacious and furnished more finely than the Breeish cottages they'd looked into. For now the stowaway could rest easy with her creature comforts. Security, privacy, a bath. Simplicity was needed while Esgaulegor regathered himself.

A farming village seemed more promising the more their provisions ran low. The horses were slow and poor, and more a hindrance than a help.

After heading far enough north, they made camp anew. Es headed into the quaint town and its quaint inn.

At the bar, he asked for work. Butterbur must have liked the way the Gondorian held himself. A job tending the bar was swift laid out for him. 

A starting point. He'd begin the following evening, on the late shift.