Tristain drummed his fingers on the countertop as he glared impatiently at the matron of the inn, who had taken his order a few minutes ago. Although he had not shown a reaction to her when he had left, the mercenary was actually rather concerned for Aynur, and did not want to leave her alone for too long. So he had ordered whatever food would be finished the fastest that had meat in it, and was now waiting for it to come out. The matron, the same woman he had threatened earlier, was fidgeting nervously under his heavy glare.

“Ye shouldn't stay too long with the girl, sir. She's not right you know, she just sits there when people -” the shrew of a woman began to speak, only to be cut off when Tristain's fingers gouged the wood they were tapping against.

“Do not mistake the fact that I strive to be a good one, to mean that I am necessarily a kind man, matron. Your words imply that you have seen people abusing her before and done nothing - which says that you are a far worse person than she is. Be. Silent.” The mercenary punctuated his words by tearing his fingers out of the divots in the wooden counter that he had made. The woman blanched when she saw the blood that dripped from his fingertips, from thin pieces of wood that had cut into him.

She was saved from having Tristain stare at her any longer by the ring of the bell that indicated his food was ready. The platter that he was handed had a thin, watery stew with, thankfully, hearty chunks of meat inside of it, along with carrots and potatoes, and other things that he couldn't recognize right away. Beside the bowl the stew rested in was a piece of bread, and a spoon. A small cup sat at the corner, holding some water. Tristain took the platter and dropped the payment on the counter before striding back to the room that Aynur was in.

His legs carried him past rambunctious patrons going about their days - a few of them stopping to stare at the out of place, heavily armored individual in their midst - and up the stairs. Heavy boots thunked against the wood of the stairway, carrying him upwards to the second floor, and then long strides moved him down the thin carpet on the floor in the hall. It took a moment to adjust the platter so he could hold it in one hand without risking spilling it, so that he could pull out the key to the room. Tristain unlocked the door and pushed it open, and paused just inside the threshold.

The smell of blood from earlier still hung in the air, fainter now, but still noticeable with its copper tang. The mercenary swiftly shut the door behind him - he did not want any of the other patrons of the inn to smell the blood before it had time to dissipate - then looked at the blind woman. She was staring vaguely off in one direction from the bed, though she had started to turn her head back towards him when she heard the door open and shut. That was not caught his attention though, what made him pause in his steps. No, what made him freeze up was the fresh patch of rusty red spreading across her arm and into the bandages and the fabric of her shirt - coming from a cut that had not been there before.

He inhaled, deeply, then exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. It seemed that he would have to keep a close eye on her for the time being - something he should have already been doing, if he had been honest with himself. But Tristain had needed to get away and clear his head for a moment, to think about her response to his offer. Finally he spoke again, as he strode over to the bed.

“It will be hard to eat with that open cut, girl.” His voice was gruff as he set the platter on the edge of the bed near her. He took her good hand and pressed it to the platter. “Stew, bread, water. Take care, or wait. I will be bandaging this wound as well.”