Dem walked into the inn, speaking with the current captain of his guard, Duff. He was a brave man, but not a foolish man. He nodded to Egfor as he walked by, heading for the kitchen for coffee. He stopped dead in his tracks, slamming his mouth closed. Egfor, for the first time he had known him, exuded the air of a nobleman. It had to be the cloak, but it was dwarven made, and no dwarves alive now knew how to put magic into anything not made of mithril. And yet, he could feel it. It oozed out of the cloak like the tides in Gondor’s rivers, barely perceptible but there.
He walked over to give Egfor a kiss. “Hello love, how are you feeling?”
Egfor smiled and took both of Dem’s hands in his. “Not well, but I am coping. Will you and Duff be much longer?”
Dem shook his head. “I think we are almost done. I didn’t wish to leave him in charge as we have sent Anndra off with Alfnia. So he is now in charge of our soldiers, you know.”
Egfor nodded. Then smiled brilliantly, “I am sure he will do splendidly. How could he not, being Anndra’s second.”
Dem stroked Egfor’s face; he had spoken like Dem would have if the situation was reversed. Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing. “I’m going to put on some coffee. Want some?”
“In a bit, I have to finish these lists for the help.”
Dem continued into the kitchen, where he proceeded on making coffee and speaking softly with Duff. Still, as often happened lately, his mind drifted to Egfor. If he is accepting of his position, will it be all that bad? No, but, but what if it is only when he wears the cloak. And who gave it to him and why? Okay, in the old days, Arrygg said they could make cloaks that were impervious to dragon fire. Is this a gift from Arrygg? No, she would have brought it out when our destination was known, especially with Egfor’s dreams. He guessed it didn’t matter.
“Dem, call your Mum!”