The brew was good, though not as good as purported. The innkeeper and his wife were a shifty pair and Tyrion had the distinct suspicion they'd not been in this business long. The rolls, however, were delicious. Surprised to find so good a bread in an inn, Tyrion paid for a second basket to be brought out. They were expensive, of course, but it was no surprise. Grain was becoming increasingly difficult to obtain. Once winter came, a sack of grain would be worth more than a bag of gold in many parts of Westeros.

A singer was in attendance and he sang many a merry tunes. His current song was an old one of two friends named Dunk and Egg and the adventures they went in. Tyrion knew well this song had invented many adventures that never truly happened. But they did make the song far more entertaining. Especially the invented part that involves whores with extra nipples.

When the boy from the kitchen arrived with a basket of rolls, Tyrion took note of him. It was an odd thing to see. A fat peasant boy. When he mumbled his thanks for the compliments, Tyrion took note of his accent.

"Boy, where did you learn to bake bread like this?"

"Pardon me, m'lord, but I learned it in King's Landing. I was a baker's apprentice."

"When I return to King's Landing, I must find this baker and put him in my own employ. How did you come to be all the way out here?"

That made the boy stammer. "I... well, there was... but..."

Tyrion's questions were interrupted as a band of travelers entered the inn. They laughed, they joked, and they were far too familiar with the inn's owners. The baking boy fled and Tyrion turned his head in sudden concern. Podrick was oblivious, but the two sellswords seemed to catch onto Tyrion's concern and they ceased their drinking.