[ Lord Francel's guest has no desire to impose on his host overlong. The cottage is too small for the burden of sheltering a stranger indefinitely, even a stranger who endeavours to be of some use while he avails himself of Lord Francel's generous hospitality, and the young lord's guardsmen make no secret of their views on the matter. The young lord himself has his daily affairs to attend to.
No, Zephirin intends to leave as soon as another few pages of his memories wiped blank are restored — unfortunately, his name was the only thing thus far to emerge from his mind's persisting fog, days into his stay at Skyfire Locks. A fortnight since Lord Francel took him in like a stray cat, and this remains all he has retrieved of his life.
His body may be a seasoned soldier's, marked here and there with scars — but was he a swordsman who fought with a shield on his arm? Or did he wield an axe? A lance?
Perhaps, he thinks from time to time, he might try his luck in Ishgard with a first name alone, if indeed "Zephirin" is his own name. Perhaps someone there knows his face. Perhaps something besides chance led his feet to Providence Point.
For now, however, the sun has risen on another cold Coerthan morn, and Lord Francel speaks of breakfast, as if they are friends and Zephirin's presence in the young lord's humble home is nothing out of the ordinary. For now, Zephirin smiles, lifting the washbasin in his arms to change the water.
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No, Zephirin intends to leave as soon as another few pages of his memories wiped blank are restored — unfortunately, his name was the only thing thus far to emerge from his mind's persisting fog, days into his stay at Skyfire Locks. A fortnight since Lord Francel took him in like a stray cat, and this remains all he has retrieved of his life.
His body may be a seasoned soldier's, marked here and there with scars — but was he a swordsman who fought with a shield on his arm? Or did he wield an axe? A lance?
Perhaps, he thinks from time to time, he might try his luck in Ishgard with a first name alone, if indeed "Zephirin" is his own name. Perhaps someone there knows his face. Perhaps something besides chance led his feet to Providence Point.
For now, however, the sun has risen on another cold Coerthan morn, and Lord Francel speaks of breakfast, as if they are friends and Zephirin's presence in the young lord's humble home is nothing out of the ordinary. For now, Zephirin smiles, lifting the washbasin in his arms to change the water.
He is aware of Ser Stephannot's eyes on them. ]
You spoil me, my lord. Have you any tasks for me?