Would you visit her in the future?

Two years have passed since that night, and you're finally back in the region for unofficial inspection.

​The village had prospered, just as you had hoped. As your small, discreet party of riders approached the familiar tavern, you saw her. Greta was hanging laundry behind a small, tidy cottage near the edge of the inn’s property. Beside her, a toddler with a thick shock of hair, hair that matched your own more than any local peasants, tugged at her skirts.

​When she looked up and saw the heraldry of your party, her eyes widened, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. She looked more mature, the soft lines of motherhood suiting her well.

​"Milord," she said, stepping forward as you dismounted. She didn't bow low like the others; there was a familiar spark in her eyes that bypassed protocol. "You took your time returning. I humbly welcome to our small town."

A small town, is it? ​"There has been many duties, Greta, but some debts are more pleasant to settle than others," you replied, your gaze drifting to the boy.

​Greta noticed your look and pulled the child closer, a proud smirk on her lips. "He has his father's temper, and his appetite."

"And where is your husband?"

"He is away on a trade caravan to the capital and he won't be back for a fortnight. By the way, Beatrix still runs the inn. I’m sure she has the finest room prepared for you and your men to rest."