Orthanc returns to his room after his first day cooking to find the following letter and a small package beneath it.
My Friend,
I hope this finds you well and not too grievously wounded by the treachery of pots and pans.
Please know that I take full responsibility for my own crimes against good meat. I cannot cook to save my life, and if skill alone determined survival, I would have perished long ago. Tomlin, very helpfully and very drunk, reminded me that anyone can make soup, and I have decided to believe him.
I hope you will join us on the road again whenever you feel ready. I would like very much to learn alongside you. If the Prince of the Mountains can humble himself before a kettle, then surely I can too. And if Tomlin’s council proves false, we shall blame him entirely.
[There’s a pretty violently crossed-out section here, parchment nearly torn through]
I am quite well. Truly. Merely distracted, and that will pass.
One last favor, and an important one: there is a bundle attached to this letter. It appears to be Lords’ Alliance correspondence addressed to Sir Sildar Hallwinter. Please give it to Toblen for discreet delivery. I know secrecy is not your craft. Your craft is honesty and terrifying competence in battle. But I need discretion from you just this once, my friend. Do not hand it to anyone else. Do not mention it. If anyone asks, you know nothing.
Eat well. Sleep. Learn from the small folk and let them teach you their tricks with onions and patience. And if the kitchen wounds your pride, remember: you have faced ogres. You can survive a stew pot.
Until you catch up to us,