Beatrice stands at the bar, cleaning a glass. As she turns to put it up, she feels a sharp pain as she reaches. They've been coming more often lately, but between the constant aching of her battle scars, it's not much to just add another pain to the list.
Her gaze lingers for a second on the picture of her and her adventuring companions. They were 40 years younger, but Reinhardt always looked old. When he finally confessed his feelings for her after settling in Four Roads, she remembers it being the most vulnerable he had ever seemed. She couldn't focus too much on her other friends.
When she looked at Vatooru, their Aarakocra Sorcerer, she saw him dragging himself along the ground, wings ripped from his back, casting his last spell.
She saw Moka, their Goblin Cleric, creating a distraction long enough to escape. His final words echoing in her ears even now.
She saw Yuvenia, their Elven Rogue, slumped over and bleeding on the floor of this inn, cradling two children, one of whom was currently teaching her youngest son to play the mandolin.
She looked over at Arorin, who caught her watching and smiled. As her son started to play, Arorin's smile remained but looked strained. His mother would make that same face every time one of their group got involved in hijinks. Which was often.
The last member of their party was Xander. Mayorson's father. Their Paladin.
As she feels herself about to get lost in an unpleasant memory, the door slams open with one of the guards clutching an arrow in his side.
"Bea," he says, stumbling in. "Sawyn and her people are here."
She runs around the bar and catches him before he falls.
"Why are they here?" she asks. "They're over a week early."
"Mayorson contacted them," he says between pained breaths. "He let her know about the Heroes of Stone, and who you and Reinhardt are."
Her face sours.
"That fucking idiot," she says while grabbing rags and other implements to slow the bleeding.
"Reinhardt is already fighting at the east gate, giving people time to run," the guard says while propping himself on the wall.
She turns to Arorin and her youngest.
"Rowan, you need to start riding for Anor's Post. The Heroes of Stone should be close at this point."
"Mom, I can't," Rowan starts before getting cut off.
"Listen, Rowan," she says as she stands up and walks over to him. "Up to this point, it's all been low stakes. You've had a taste of consequences, but it's been little things. It's time to understand the world you're in, and that people's lives are directly impacted by the choices you make. If you ride to them quickly enough, then people who are in danger might yet live."
"But maybe Arorin can—"
"No. It can only be you."
Rowan goes to protest but hesitates. He purses his lips and nods.
"Thank you, love." She takes his head in her hands and kisses his forehead. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, Mom."
Rowan runs out the door. Beatrice stares at the door for a second before turning to look at Arorin.
"This is also your—"
"I'll stop you there, ma'am," Arorin says as he hangs his cloak on a hook and starts positioning various daggers on his vest. He grabs a sheathed rapier from under the stage and equips it to his side. "This is my home."
"Home...," she echoes, deep in thought for a moment. "Barricade what you can, I need to get my armor on."
Arorin nods, and Beatrice walks behind the bar, opening the door to her private quarters. She walks to her bedroom and slides a chest out from under her bed. Opening it reveals her full plate armor. She stares at it for a few moments and runs her fingers over the image of her family's emblem that is embossed on the chest, a large birch tree. It was the emblem of a dying royal family. One of the last remaining Human Lords of the Green Sea. When they escaped their home, they couldn't take much, but her father's armor was one of the few things they brought. She later had it refitted for her body, and would think of him every time she put it on.
They called her Beatrice the Immovable.
And she wasn't going to leave another home.