Position? He could easily imagine what. Head of guard, knight, lord, adviser, council.. Above all, Roran wished for his home. He hadn't been old enough to remember it when he'd left. In his memories he saw white walls and dozens of tiny streets that spidered away like rivers and streams. He could remember climbing the roof of one of the taller houses, looking out at a vast and busy city filled with vibrant red cloths. He could never see a sigil on the banners, no marks of a ruling house. People spoke of his Riverland's heritage yet Roran saw no signs of silver oaks.. He held the secret belief he'd been born in one of the few remaining free cities to the South and the West, although war and the ever increasing slave trade grew in on the shores beyond Andor. He smiled as calmly as he could and sighed gently. He wasn't going to lie to her.

"I'll be trailed." He feared the possibility of execution yet being punished by the Gods for having their newest queen killed by the man who called himself King. The blonde soon nodded. She had a point. Derrin would return before the night was up, now was their best chance. He waited patiently before stepping outside in the silence quietly. He heard nothing, only the faint sound dripping somewhere in the keep. He was grateful for the silence for now. The last thing they needed was a fight. Roran was barely armed.. He checked each hallway and carried her on extended and emptier routes than some of the faster paths they could have taken. He crept along on shorter hall and stopped outside the kitchen. 

They both waited. Roran turned to her and placed a finger on his lip. The cook may have been asleep but he may have also been awake. Regardless, they needed food. He'd need to make sure to retrieve the rest of his own weapons before leaving. Ysabel could easily use his own sword, she was handy enough with one. The last item were horses, that however depended on the time. Horses weren't silent like men. One noise and they'd be found as easily as that. Roran slowly peered his head round the door, staring into the dimly lit kitchen. He could smell no food nor see no fire burning, something which he believed indicated a lack of life. He waved and stepped into the threshold of the kitchen. Food was kept in various places, but they'd need pots and pans too. He took up a sack and slowly emptied a number of potatoes from the bottom. They'd use this until Roran found his own bags. That meant a trip into his own lodgings, something he felt was all too dangerous.

"Look for food and pans. Nothing that will rot soon, its at least a months ride and even longer on foot." He muttered, keeping his voice low and deep. He disappeared along the stone floors, grabbing bread and items he felt were fresh. They'd find things on the way, no doubt they'd find farms or inns that would somehow provide for them. The more he thought about the task at hand, the worse he felt. He'd deliver Ysabel to the Desert City and travel home from there. He couldn't return to Cannor after that. He'd take a ship to the West and travel until he saw something that resembled home. No doubt he'd find something better before then, providing he didn't die before they reached the God's Waste.

He filled his bag with various items and returned to the door, the bag slung over his shoulder. He paused for Ysabel and smiled.
"Are you okay?" He asked, cautious of her possible thoughts. She hadn't voiced them for a while and perhaps now wasn't truly the time. However, he feared she shared the same vague regret he did. 

((Apologies!))