You decline.

Your green eyes flick from that outstretched hand to the rogue's glinting eyes. Does this unscrupulous individual think he can bait you into a very lopsided and unfair contest for half of your well earned gold? Clearly he underestimates your intelligence. Perhaps he's fooled similar girls like this, and maybe that's how he knows about other holy sisters... This thought reignites your fury. "I'd never drink with such a coward and a rogue." You spit, allowing a sneer to twist your face. "Now get away from me. Your stench is offensive, and much worse than the orcs I saved you from." Dervish's smirk is wiped right off his face, and a mask of cold fury replaces it.
"You'll regret speaking to me like that, missy." He says through gritted teeth, pushing himself away from the bar and stepping away. In a final show of his poor quality of character, the man kicks over his stool on his way out, the loud bang cutting through the din of conversation, and bringing all other noise to a close. Everyone watches as Dervish stalks out of the inn and into the cold, inky blackness outside. Then all eyes turn to you. You stifle a laugh.

Rolling your eyes and jumping off your stool, you ignore all those eyes boring into your back. You kneel and stand the stool back up where it had been, earning you a thankful smile from innkeeper Barliman. "He's one o'them roguish types." Barliman offered rather unhelpfully, once you had sat back down and the other patrons had stopped staring at you. "Seems to have some influence over these parts. And not just Barrowden ya see. Other places 'round here too." The innkeeper told you. Your lips purse. That outburst and your attitude might have made a more powerful enemy than you originally thought.

Quickly putting the rather unpleasant encounter behind you, the rest of the night goes smoothly. You had one more tankard, and are intelligent enough to realise that this should be your last. And that was only partly because you had almost fallen off your stool after Barliman had made you laugh at some silly jape. Partly! Soon after, the inn begins to wind down. Most people leave to go to their various homes around Barrowden, others up to their rooms, and you and the innkeeper are left alone. The atmosphere becomes more intimate and personal, your conversation returning to his aching and his loss.

"I miss her terribly I do. I think of her every day, and haven't felt a woman's touch ever since..." The innkeeper says, seemingly trusting you enough to spill his guts utterly to you. Offering a soft smile, you think of what to do. He is clearly suffering from a deep grief, yet you know that there is no merit in him languishing in it. Perhaps you could help him get past this bereavement..

The matron of the monastery had mentioned one similar a case that she had encountered during her pilgrimage many years ago. She had come across a man dealing with crippling grief who had also not been with a woman since his wife's early, unexpected passing. She had solved the issue by servicing the man with her hands. This had helped the man begin to move past his loss. By the time that the matron had visited the town a year later, the man was happily married. You could offer this service to the lonely innkeep...

By the looks he had been given to your behind every so often, it was probable he'd agree to such a lewd proposition. The question is, would you offer this service to Barliman? You could always refrain from any sexual acts however, and simply trust your words to help the man.