Spring 42, 511
The common room trembled at the break of dusk as a few families of Coolwater cooked up their fresh-caught cod and icefish for dinner. To enter the modest hall was to let cheery orange warmth dissolve all memory of the blue outside, and to replace the murmurs of the ocean with the noise of good conversation. This was no extraordinary night in the lives of the people, and yet it was a night worth living for. To the wet-haired man at the end of a table, it was beautiful.
He had secretly come as a part of a renewed search for any young, mountless Icewatch guards, but in the meantime he had become lost in the culture.
Already they were bringing out the plates for those in attendance, a special addition added to each one. Between the fish and the blackberry pudding sat a strip of delicious seal. While this was not necessarily a delicacy around these parts (as the local hunters were more than skilled), it was the first catch since the animals had returned for spring—and it was not caught by a native to the hold.
Belgar’s thin lips smiled as best they could to express his pride as he met the eyes of the nodding Vantha around him. When the pretty fisherman’s daughter set down his meal, though, the expression immediately dropped to something more comfortable. Anyone who did not know him would think he was frowning, but really he was too busy with his dinner to concern himself with the language of emotion. His plate held the real treasure of the catch: not any charred protein, but uncooked, calorific fat. He had asked for it specifically.
Even after years of experience, he held the fork somewhat awkwardly as he tried to break his meal with it. The only difference between his dinner now and the moment he killed it was the location and the number of mouths who would consume it. And for that reason, it was even more delicious.