[indent][i]Earlier…[/i]

[sub]featuring the lovely [@Lemons][/sub][/indent]

From within the depths of his cowl, Morgan had watched Aidann’s approach and his attempt to join the others around the campfire. The Bear could hide his disappointment from them, but not from a fellow witcher’s gaze. The Griffin didn’t reply to the man’s compliment on his steed immediately and instead took the time to set his sword aside and adopt a more open posture, though his hood remained in place. He had little patience for people, but he was always interested in hearing the tales of a fellow mutant. Morgan eyed Aidann’s medallion with curiosity. He had never met a witcher from the School of the Bear before. In fact, he hadn’t even been sure if any of them were still alive until now. He remembered them being known as solitary creatures, even by witcher standards, that thrived in the wild places of the world. If nothing else, Aidann definitely looked the part. 

“That he is,” Morgan replied at length and reached out a gloved hand to touch Charlemagne on the nose. The horse whinnied softly. “Zerrikanian war-horse. Pedigree breeding and all. Cost me a small fortune. But you know what they say,” he continued and turned back to face Aidann, “never skimp out on anything that separates you from the ground.” 

He craned his neck to look at the pale mare that the other man had rode in on and nodded in her direction. “What about her? What’s her story?” 

Aidann laughed softly. “Nothin’ as grand as a purebred Zerrikanian, I’m afraid. Over the decades, I’ve started to value food on m’ plate an’ armor on m’ back over a horse under m’ arse.” He gave a small shrug. “I found Steam in a Velen village some years back. Decided I liked her. The rest is history, I s’pose.”

He gave her a fond glance. “She’s certainly carried me t’rough some hell. I ‘member maybe...ten years ago? Time gets so hard to track once you’ve lived through so much of it--I managed to get m’self a contract for a young forktail that had been botherin’ a village just north of Amell, can’t ‘member the name anymore. I let the bugger knock me down, wasn’t careful enough, hadn’t put draconid oil on m’ sword, the works. My fault, I weren’t ready. Still, you know what Steam did, when the damn thing landed to get at me?”

He laughed: “She kicked it in the side of the head! Gave me enough time to get up, get back to work. Might’ve saved m’life that day. Brave girl, that she is.” A moment’s silence. 

“Ah, bad manners. I should introduce meself.” He stuck his armored hand out: “Aidann na Oisin. A pleasure.”

Morgan had asked for a story and he had definitely received one. It was good to know that Aidann was more of the talkative type than he was. It meant that the Griffin could use the Bear as their representative in their dealings with Balidvar and the rest of the expedition. He took Aidann’s armored paw and shook it firmly, but briefly. “Morgan,” he said simply. His voice was largely free of an accent or any particular way of speaking, almost clinical in its curtness and plainness, and made for a sharp contrast against Aidann’s sing-song cadence. 

“What do you make of him?” he asked and gestured subtly with his head towards the king’s bastard. 

Cocking his head, Aidann considered the question for a moment. Truth be told, he didn’t think he’d had enough information of Balidvar to really consider what he thought of the bastard, but...he could make some guesses. After a moment, he lowered his eyes to Morgan’s own and spoke, quickly and quietly to as to stay out of Balidvar’s earshot.

“Have you seen the luk in his eyes? He seems...angry. Very, very angry. He’s no’ a man I’d like to get on the bad sied of, but I don’ know how gud of a feighter he’d be, and I don’ thenk he’d be a good commander. He seems ho'headed. Too much so be be trusted in a leadership position, at the very least.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “A’ least, those are my t’oughts. A ducat for yours?”

Morgan listened impassively and shrugged when Aidann had finished speaking. "Much the same," he said softly. "He looks like he has something to prove. Who knows what Foltest promised him for succeeding in this mission?" The unspoken implication being, of course, that such promises might drive the bastard to try to succeed at all costs… and at any expense. 

“So,” replied Aidann, “we keep ‘n eye on ‘im, then?” Status and contract be damned, he refused to let a grandstanding bastard princeling jeopardize the people under his care without doing something about it.

The Griffin looked the Bear in the eye and held his gaze for a few seconds. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s.”