One week later.

Business at the tavern is going well. It was a little bit of trouble getting customers when I first bought the place from the building’s last owner, but now it has become the prime spot for travelers passing through the town to relax. Aritha and I are currently making plans to have a stage built for live performances.

“Nice and clean,” I mutter to myself, looking at the gleam from the freshly polished bar.

I go to polish the tables when there’s a knock on the front door. 

Who is here this early? 

I go to the door, unlock, and open it. “You can come in, but we’re not serving drinks until-” The rest of my words get stuck in my throat as I see the teenage half-orc we had rescued earlier standing before me.

“Hello.”

“It’s you! P-please, come in.”

The boy silently walks past me, not meeting me with his eyes. I stop back to take a good look at him. Aside from the large bandage covering his wound, he looks mostly recovered. He is wearing the jacket I had retrieved from the alley but no shirt underneath it. Understandably, I used it to cover his wound and my suit was still ruined by the blood just from me carrying him. I didn’t notice it at the time, but the boy has scars all over his body as well as a tattoo winding around his right arm. I realize that I haven’t moved since letting him in and go over to the table.

“Do you want something to drink? It’s on the house,” I offer with a smile.

“On... the house?” The boy looks at me, confused, for the first time and I am met with the brightest pair of green eyes I’ve ever seen.

I realize that the half-orc does not understand many Common phrases. “What I mean is, you don’t have to pay for it. I’ll mix you up something real quick.”

I go behind the bar and start to work my magic. I feel the young boy’s piercing eyes watching my every move as I prepare his drink. It's a nonalcoholic version of a personal favorite of mine. Finishing it up quickly, I place it in front of him.

He looks into the cup, now in his hands but doesn’t drink any of it. It’s a stark comparison between his face when we first discovered him and the somber expression the boy wore now. Back in the alley even while his body was slumped against the wall, his head was held high and I could’ve sworn he had a grin on his face. 

He finally begins to speak, “My name is-”

“Wait,” I interrupted him. I call out to my wife who is in the kitchen preparing the food, “Someone’s here to see us!”

Aritha walks into the main room but rushes over once she spots our guest.

“You’re okay! You won’t believe how scared we were when we found you!”

My wife takes the boy’s head in her hands and thanks the gods for protecting him. The half-orc averts his eyes, but I can see that he is blushing. Heh, Aritha always had that effect on people.

The boy starts again, “My name is Garik. I came here to thank you for saving me.”

“Don’t worry about it. We couldn’t just leave you there,” she replies, wiping tears from her eyes.

“My family wanted me to invite you to dinner,” he says as he pulls out a letter.

I take the letter and examine it. It thanks us once again and has directions to their home. Garik, looking relieved to have completed his task, takes a sip of his drink. Enjoying the taste, he quickly downs the rest of the drink with ease and gets up to leave.

“There’s more where that came from. Feel free to stop by any time!” I give him a pat on the back.

“And we’ll be honored to visit your home,” my wife adds.

He gives us a nod before exiting the tavern.

We take up the offer of dinner and have a lovely time. Garik’s parents come from the tribe’s village to check on him. Hazel Nightfall, Garik’s mother and a Varden native, is a cleric at the local sanctuary. She told us the story of them meeting during the ministry’s visits to the tribe in their effort to bring peace between the two settlements, who were at war at the time. 

My wife and I were very surprised by how well-spoken Sh’rahk, Garik’s father, was. Despite Common not being his native language, the hulking warchief had little trouble making conversation with us, influence from the women in his life being the driving factor behind his skill.

Over the years, Garik has grown into a fine young man. Aritha and I make sure to keep him out of trouble and away from any more harm. He regularly visits our business to help out, and, once he is of drinking age, becomes a customer as well. I make sure that his first drink of the night is “on the house” of course.

Current day

A few minutes after the tavern opens officially, Valter and Aritha are at the bar counter having a conversation.

“And you don’t know who she was?” Aritha asks, puzzled by their early visitor.

“I’ve never seen her here before, that’s for sure,” Walter answers.

The two continue to speculate when Garik strolls into the building. “Hi Uncle Valter and Aunt  Aritha!” The half-orc cheerfully greets the two tavern owners. 

“Garik, I’ve told you before you shouldn’t call us by those names while the tavern is open,” Aritha warns him with a frown.

“Oh right, sorry,” Garik gives her an apologetic smile and she eases her expression.

Valter clears his throat and attempts to change the subject. “Well well, Garik. It seems like you’re getting popular around here. A lovely young woman came by to give you this.”

He produces the letter from behind the bar. Garik takes it, but doesn’t seem to have any idea what it is for.

“So you got yourself a secret admirer, eh?” Valter says with a wink, causing his wife to roll her eyes. “Why don’t you just read it?” she suggests. Garik makes sure none of the few patrons that have arrived can hear them and reads the letter aloud.

To the gentleman who rescued me, I offer my humblest thanks and appreciation. Please come to my home and allow me to show my gratitude in person. 

• Venice Wainwright

Garik meets two shocked faces as looks up from the note. “Wainwright?” Aritha exclaims. “As in Varden Wainwright?” asks her husband.

“That’s what it says,” Garik says with a confused look on his face, “Is something wrong?”

“Garik, that woman is a descendant of the man who built this city,” Aritha explains.

“And you rescued her? How did you even meet her?” Valter asks.

Garik scratches the back of his head. “It was here last week. I was at the bar when I saw a creepy looking man follow her out of the tavern. She looked scared.”

The two bartenders are very surprised to hear that a person of her stature was visiting their business.

Garik continues, “I went to see if everything was all right and found him laughing at her crying on the ground. So I took care of him.”

“And what happened after that?” asks his “aunt.”

“She insisted that she could make it back home herself, so I went back into the tavern.”

Valter’s face grows serious, “Garik, you need to tell us when something like that happens. Especially if it happens here. Understand?” 

The half-orc is surprised by his “uncle’s” reaction, but answers “yeah” with his head hung low.

After a moment of silence Aritha sighs, “Well nobody was in that alley the next morning, so it’s safe to say he made it out okay.”

“He probably was too embarrassed to tell anyone about it as well.” Valter adds with a smirk.

The tavern starts to fill up with customers. “Can I get a round of drinks for the back table?” calls a waitress. The couple get to work.

“Don’t worry about it. You did the right thing.” Valter says, ruffling up the half-orc’s hair.

Feeling better, Garik takes note of the address written on the letter and wonders what’s in store for him when he gets there.