Jaren
Jaren thought for a moment, considering how to reply. It would be so easy to sound like he was bragging, now, but truth was he had been to most countries between the Spine of the World and the Aryth Ocean. “I went anywhere my father’s business would send me,” he replied eventually. “Tear, Mayene and Altara all produce excellent wines that my father wanted to import to Andor, and beyond, so these were the countries I visited the most frequently.” He shrugged and tilted his head. “Never been to the Borderlands. Father didn’t think there was enough to be gained. I tried arguing the point when I was younger, not because of any superior business sense or anything, but because I wanted to see the Borderlands.” He chuckled. “I guess I was a bit of a brat.” Whatever the case, he’d obeyed back then. It had taken several more years — and the threat of marriage — to dredge up the nerve to defy the old man.
Then he sobered up again, considering the other issue. “Anyway. I suppose you’re right in that I’ll be stuck here for a few years, much like I’d be tied to a family, but there’s a difference in that, first of all this is temporary. A marriage is for life.” He suspected he’d still be tied to the Grey Tower for life after he reached full rank and regained the ability to travel, but that topic was liable to get too philosophical for the hour.
“And… well.” He glanced at Johan, flashing a slightly wry smile. “I’m not expected to be in love with the Tower. I mean, nobody was expecting me to be in love with the prospective bride, either; hells, I didn’t even know her. But the Tower doesn’t suffer for my lack of feelings, you know? Whereas a woman, a living person…” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been fair. For her, or for me.” So much for not getting philosophical. Ah well.