Fhariel studied the bard carefully for a moment. He was too full of swagger for her taste, but she had to admit that he was handsome, and there were redeeming qualities in him; he was clearly trying to offer some comfort to her, even if it was fable hope. “Dahast is a noble sun elven house, is it not,” she stated more than inquired. Half-elves were fairly common in the dalelands, but were mostly of moon or wood elven decent as sun elves tended to be more insular and almost puritanical about their lineage. “It is,” Marlykan replied, a bit surprised by the change in subject and her brighter demeanor, adding with mock pride; “and I am the black cloud that stains it! My father left me with his name and my mother with enough gold to live comfortable before he scampered off in the Retreat.” He instantly realized his glib reply was a mistake, seeing that she was clearly taken aback as she stood and turned away, abruptly ending their conversation with the announcement; “I should hire a room for the night.” Wracking his brain for a way to salvage the evening, he followed her toward the innkeeper’s desk, but luck turned in his favor as the early spring storm had driven everyone to seek better lodgings then a bedroll in the mud outside and innkeeper informed her that there were no vacant rooms. Well off the beaten track, nestled between the northern arm of the massive Cormanthor and more diminutive Velarwood, Velarsburg was little more than a trading post with a few dozen homes clustered tightly within a defensive palisade. It had only one inn, and while the locals might rent a bed for the night, the hour was already much too late for her to pursue such accommodations. “You’re more than welcome to share my room,” he offered, grasping at the flicker of hope while trying not to sound like he was implying anything more than a dry place to rest, but fully expecting a slap in the face for his effort. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on, but her cold demeanor had barely thawed since she confronted him in the tavern, plus it seemed that all he’d managed to do was crush her hopes to regain her home and aggravate her with his glib attitude about his elven heritage. For reasons he couldn’t fathom now, he’d abandoned several lovely young maids who were more than willing to share a night’s pleasure to satisfy her inquires for the remote prospect of bedding her. Had he become so jaded that he sought the challenge more than the reward? Fhariel turned to face him, and took another long moment to measure him. Despite his triviality about his elven blood, which she realized was likely the result of being abandoned by his father, and his smugness, he was a handsome rogue. Her long trek from Evereska through the wilds of the western heartlands had left her at the mercy of a number of men; frontiersmen, homesteaders and caravan drivers, all of whom expected payment in one form or another for the shelter, food and protection they had provided her with, and none of them had been as pleasing on the eyes. “I suppose it’s better than the common room floor,” she replied with an accepting sigh as just the barest hint of a coy smile turned her lips.