Two Knights Walk Into A Bar

Minas Tirith: The Steward\'s Hearth

The common room of the Steward\'s Hearth is large and airy, with a high ceiling of exposed beams upheld by thick wooden pillars. A wooden bar runs along the length of one wall, while the main floor is dominated by tables of varying sizes, all accompanied by as many chairs as possible. Where the walls are not dominated by the bar or the large stone hearth -- above which is hung a white banner bearing the device of the Lord Steward -- there are private booths and smaller tables for those seeking a relative amount of peace and quiet. A few windows look out onto Woodwright Street, and where they do not, banners of lost Numenor hang in nostalgic remembrance.

Busy as it is during the daylight hours, the Steward\'s Hearth is rarely filled while the sun is up. Craftsmen and their apprentices, women and their children, officers and soldiers: all come here most likely to seek a daytime meal and some time off from their duties.

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Weather:Clear

Time: Mid Afternoon <16>

Season: Summer

Date: Oranor - June 12, 3046

Real Time: Mon Mar 16 11:17:47 2009

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-[Aurelia(#10854)] Even throughout the day there are better places for younglings of certain breeding to lose an hour or two than the meeting room of an ale-house and inn. The libraries of the Ostoher Academy, for one, offers a finer hospitality than that which may be given by an half-empty room of dry tables, still carrying the stray scents of what beverages that\'d tipped on them the night before. And then there is the markets, the noble houses, the gardensBut Aurelia doesn\'t seem to mind.Or if she does, she does so in secret, for purpose is writ upon her forehead and mouth as she leans over the tabletop of her booth -- two books piled on the far corner, and a cloak of heavily embroidered finery cast over the top in front of her, so as to be inspected. With a butter-knife, and her lips pursed so as to let out a whistle, the Bragollach tries to cut through the fabric. Stab. Stab. \"Oh, but it\'s too blunt,\" she laments to herself, with an uncharacteristic scowl.

At a nearby table, a group of men of the Company of Ithilien have finished their lunch and are now standing to take their leave of the inn. The last among them to do so is a not so tall young man with dark hair, a strong jawline, and one missing finger. He holds two black gauntlets in his hands, marks of rank, but the June weather perhaps making him reluctant to don them just yet.

As the rest of the men file out ahead of him, this Master Scout pauses to watch the attack on the cloak, his expression puzzled.

\"Tis a fine cloak. Does it deserve such an end?\" he asks.

[Aurelia(#10854)]

In habits formidable for any young lady, Aurelia\'s face is a polite one when it casts itself to the side -- toward the voice of a newcomer -- and her mouth replaces the vinegar in its measure with something more amiable and sweet. She smiles. A hand raises, the hand not holding the knife, and she waves, and seems for a moment sensible and idyllic were it not for the unsatisfactory meal-knife in her left hand.

\"A fine cloak--?\" The question cuts off before it is properly pronounced. Aurelia\'s quick eyes snap from the speaker, to the cloak on her uncluttered tabletop, and she pushes from it a single step. The utensil is similarly left there. \"Oh, I see.\"

And she seems to consider the question smartly, and with biting consideration. Her eyes raise to the ceiling, and her arms cross pensively across her chest, and then she reasons, with a matron\'s authority, \"Quite. It\'s art. Or at least it will be. Are you well-acquainted with the theatre?\" A pause is given here, though not long enough for an answer to be received in time. \"It will be a prop in the next performance. I believe the last one had a decent showing.\"

A second pause. Aurelia points a finger heaven-ward. \"It\'s customary to greet a person before placing an inquiry.\"

\"Yes, of course, your pardon my lady. Your actions so startled me that I forgot my manners. I am Ceredir, Master Scout of Ithilien,\" he says, sweeping a bow.

\"And to whom do I owe the pleasure of talking to? An actress per chance? You have a part in the next performance? And if so, I will be sure to attend.\"

[Aurelia(#10854)]

It\'s an amiable wait as Aurelia\'s offered the bow -- the fellow receives the smallest of curtseys, but a mere lowering of the knees, in near-synchronised repayment -- however, her arms remain, if loosely, crossed, but lowered over her stomach. Hers is a thoughtful picture indeed when her own name as asked for, and the flattery, if it could be that, lands upon an unmoved face. In the moment of silence that follows, she is still smiling, still unblinkingly pleasant of look, and her voice\'s even tone is not an unwelcoming one.

\"Eamane Bragollach,\" she answers the first question -- and the second, only after letting out a light scoff. \"An actress? Yes, of course! You ought to see my performance. Did you catch the last one? Perhaps you\'d have seen me. You really ought to catch the next one -- it\'s so nice when people come especially to watch you. It\'s very encouraging, for a thespian.\"

Fibs, of course. Every last remark.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"I did catch the last one,but in truth I do not recognize you now...unless you were the naked woman in the beginning of the play, but yet...I do not remember her face...\" Ceredir replies in a very dry tone.

\"And yet, a Bragollach....I cannot imagine that Sir Bor would permit a member of his house to be a thespian. But...one never knows....Sir Bor has changed since he become Lord Bragollach....\"

A sort of smile flickers around the edges of the Master Scout\'s eyes.

[Aurelia(#10854)]

Naked woman?

Aurelia\'s eyes widen and her mouth forms a sneer before she\'s able to tentative pull her features back into a semblance of friendly neutrality -- perhaps a better question may have been to whether she had seen the play, herself. Her stare peevishly moves to the far wall as she shifts on her feet, and with a teenager\'s half-hidden exasperation, she lets her weight favour one leg.

\"I suppose you wouldn\'t,\" she says, and manages not to let a sharp pointedly creep into her voice. In a moment, in fact, she appears perfectly recovered of her prior frustrations -- her stare is a wide one again, but not in shock so much as enthusiasm this time, and she unhooks her arms about each other so she can clap her palms together.

\"Yes, I daresay he wouldn\'t. It\'s a family secret. I\'m trusting you, Ceredir --\" she raises a hand to candidly pinch her lips together at their centers, as if her thumb and index were a mighty clamp -- \"do try not to tell him of young Eamane\'s indiscretions. He would be most displeased and we are very close.\"

But now, at least, she laughs.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"Why would I tell him, Eamane?\" Ceredir answers with a brief shrug. \"The honor or lack thereof of the Bragollach name has no bearing on me after all. If you wish to be an actress, be an actress. Certainly worse sins have been committed in your noble house in the past, no?\"

[Aurelia(#10854)]

And the laughter stops.

\"Lack thereof? My goodness, sir, I did not take you for a detractor.\" The friendliness remains -- a shadow of it, at least, as Aurelia regards Ceredir a gaze less prone to travel. The arches of her eyebrows rise blandly, giving her the feigned expression of one set in front of only the dreariest of elders that civility enforces them to humour, and her palm floats upon the air -- only for her fingers to starfish, animatedly, as if they were dispersing water upon the young man\'s person. \"Can you not spot a joke? Noblewomen have better things to devote their time to than plays. I suppose your mother never taught you to knit?\"

Finny

The door swings then ajar, and with no measure of gentleness does the hustle and bustle of the lively street beyond fall into the common room. That as well as a shaft of brightness in the shade -- again quickly clouded. In the doorway a tall man pauses, a mere sillhouette against the sunlight until he steps within, accompanied by the chime of mail softened underneath cloak and coat, and the creaking of the door upon its hinges.

Raven his shoulderlength hair, windswept and flecked with a grey akin to the High Seas, like his eyes that now fleet across Ceredir and Aurelia over yonder. His brow is untroubled, his chiseled face with high cheekbones and straight lines is fair, like his skin. Within the folds of his grey-cloak that flutter to and fro as he walks can be spied upon his breast the Swordsman in the Sky upon a blue field Telumehtar, one winged helm resting upon his arm.

Yet his attire is well worn: dusty and, sad to say, not wholly clean.

\"Tavernkeep!\" Cries the Swan-knight in the lilting tones of the south, of Belfalas: \"Ale if you please, and quickly!\"

\"Who is -that-?\" Whispers one young man, nudging Ceredir in the side gently with an elbow.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"A joke? No...these things escape me sometimes, as they have so many twists and turns it is hard to read them. So...your pardon for that, as well,\" Ceredir says.

\"As for my mother, she did not raise me and she passed away when I was but 6, so that I never knew her. My father...\" he shrugs. \"So I know not how noblewomen spend their time or ought to.\"

The Master Scout turns in the direction he is urged to look at the entrance of the newcomer, but he shakes his head. \"Never seen him before.\"

[Aurelia(#10854)]

Indeed, it is no gentle entrance that this new patron affords the entryway of the Steward\'s Hearth and it does have a way of making a small interruption of itself, as all eyes seem to glance toward the source of the flaying doors and the voice that proceeds them. Aurelia is slower to react -- throwing an unimpressed arch of her eyebrow to the young man who calls for Ceredir, yet finds himself the focus of her attention first, before shifting on the heels of her slippered feet to better examine the muse of such wonderment.

The lady\'s eyes narrow -- she recognises no feature, and one her shoulders raise in an unreadable shrug.

\"Someone who desires to drink early and speak loudly about it -- we should ask,\" she remarks in an unusual mixture of indifference and civility. It\'s with notable cheekiness that Aurelia\'s voice lowers to quietly encourage the haste of the barkeep with a murmured, \"Oh yes, yes, quickly barkeep, he desperately needs his ale -- a morning isn\'t a bright one without ale.\" And louder: \"Fear not, Ceredir. I spot them fields away. And I\'m very sorry to hear about your mother. Such is the story of many of our generation. Quite tragic, really, I mourn for your loss a wound long healed, as it may be.\"

And yet, for all Aurelia\'s respectful quiet, she seems not too regretful at all. Her hand extends, she gives Ceredir\'s shoulder a sisterly slap, lets it fall, then she calls yonder to the new arrival, \"Pardon me, my lord -- who are you?\"

Fin

The Knight\'s gaze turn sternly on the youth by Ceredir\'s side and again to Aurelia -- but the menace, if that is what it is, disperses quickly a smile dawning and fleeting quickly from his face the gleam in his eyes hid by his wink. Has he heard?

Inconceivable!

And yet, there\'s a keen edge to that bright and clear gaze as though they belong to a man who sees far. Should his ears then not house the same quality? But nay, he makes no further response ale is brought and received. \"My thanks, Master. The roads...\"

And drunk.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"Nonetheless, it is much appreciated,\" Ceredir says simply to the girl. \"Though next time, perhaps, I might know better than to take a jest for serious. I am learning.\"

Attention then is paid to the newly arrived Knight. \"Good day. You are arrived fresh from some campaign to the south, I imagine? I am called Ceredir, and I do not believe we have met. Though the question throughout the tavern this afternoon seems to be who are you?\" He grins.

[Aurelia(#10854)]

Keen eyes miss little -- such are what Aurelia seems gifted with, for the look she receives does not go unregistered, and her face immediately tilts to the side. Examining the fellow, the knight, as Ceredir so says, Aurelia is at her leisure. Not inspired to approach him as the Master Scout is, the young lady hangs back in fact, unhurried and unexcited as she is, she moves closer to her table and pulls the cloak that\'d been laid atop of it over her arm. The books she\'d left there are similarly tucked in a loose clutch between her chest and her arm, and only then does she half-heartedly follow the migration closer to the knight.

\"Yes, he -is- called Ceredir,\" she supports Ceredir\'s introduction nonchalantly, but is not generous enough to give her own. \"He is a student of good-humour. We fear it is a characteristic nearing extinction in these parts.\"

She, at least, is relatively amused at herself. Aurelia\'s chin lowers so she can chuckle for a few wayward beats, before eliminating the hiccupping trickles with a sharp clearing of her throat.

[Arathis(#30050)]

The lumbers of the Hearth open for the Lord Isilrim. A weariness raccoons his eyes yet his step is measured, and his unhelmed head scans the patrons levelly.

Footfall ends aside the Master Scout. A nod, and then he issues coolly: \"I have heard that you have searched for me, Ceredir. Forgive me, but I have been bound by unkind occupation.\"

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"Sir,\" is Ceredir\'s reply as his attention now is torn between two nights. \"It is no matter. My duties keep me more than busy, as well, and I have had little time for idle talk, even important idle talk. In fact, duty calls me shortly even now.\"

\"But first, tell me--I have heard some rumors of both great troubles and momentous changes that concern you. Is it true?\"

[Arathis(#30050)]

\"Yet there are few deeds born without word,\" retorts the Isilrim Lord, an odd dullness to his tongue, \"and those who act without heed of word, perform ever the deeds of others.\"

His palm lifts idly, prompting a chalice from the bar. Ere lifting the vessel to his lips, he adds: \"It is unwise to affirm the truth of rumors one has not heard.\"

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"The rumors, then, were that both Elphir and Erchirion are missing at sea, the Corsairs perhaps to blame. And that you are now Knight-Herald of Dol Amroth? I would congratulate you, though I wish the circumstances were better.\" And then, instead of hurrying off to duties as mentioned, Ceredir leans back against the nearby bar to listen.

Fin

The ale is downed, with a haste held in check, under Aurelia\'s disapproving gaze or no a hand, its glove yet swathed in a fine coat of dust, raised to ward off their questions.

A well content sigh.

But \'ere the Scout\'s speech, he says with that lilting tone, turning to face Arathis and Ceredir and Aurelia, his tankard left with a thump on the serving disk next to his helm -- the Swordsman on his coat plain enough for them to see here is a kinsman of Argamir Telumehtar: \"Sir Arathis, Knight-Herald?\"

\"Truly?\"

The unnamed knight\'s lips are then cleaved by a grin, sent Aurelia\'s way in acknowledgement or for no reason at all -- who can say, for sure? -- but no words he awaits the answer to his question.

[Arathis(#30050)]

The features of the Isilrim lord soften: his brows prove suddenly burdened, narrowing the gaze that regards Ceredir. There his eyes are not unkind without glance, he slowly places the chalice aside on the bar. A light smile, foreign in its temper, answers Ceredir alone.

With this, he shifts towards his questioner. Assessing the man, he straightens, and responds flatly: \"Hail, good scion of the Telumehtar. I am bespoken already to the will of the Prince but now, I shall serve too as its voice.

\"Yet who is it who asks, countryman?\"

[Aurelia(#10854)]

The talk, as it may tend to in a room dominated by men, turns toward the greyer delicacies of impending battle and other gloomy things -- and like most women raised by book and knitting-needle, Aurelia stays where she is and listens, looking from one man to the next, in the order in which they speak. Barely acquaintances, she seems quite comfortable enough to take in the news -- the Princes, missing at see? Corsairs to blame? -- with a face both eager and blank. Her eyebrows rise, as if in accordance to some unspoken remark, and just as she\'s prompted to speak it aloud, she catches the stray grin she receives from the knight not yet introduced --

She stops in her tracks. She returns the smile to him -- brightly -- only to seem sour and bored when it falls. Her slipper digs into the wooden floor as she promptly turns, without farewell, save the barest lowering of her head to Ceredir.

And without a second thought, an unruffled stride marches Aurelia to and through the doorway.

Fin

A pause.

\"Ah, you would not remember my face,\" The Telumehtar answers his answer on a warmer note than the question to which it is spoken. \"Nor my name I shouldn\'t wonder! It has been a long time \'ere I set foot within the precincts of this city, nor indeed the realm. Thorondur Girithlin held that honor when I departed.\" He extends a hand.

\"Findon.\"

The narrowed glance that follows Aurelia\'s departure is brief.

[Arathis(#30050)]

At the name of the Thorondur, Arathis turns fully upon his interlocutor. For some moments, he is silent, ere firmly grasping the extended hand.

So he speaks, curiosity\'s lilt between his words, \"Well met, Findon of the Telumehtar.

\"Yet I do not follow: what mean you, this honor of the Lord Girithlin?

\"And what errand has displaced you from this Land of Stone?\"

Fin

The answer is a murmur, at first.

\"Ah, even the speech is foreign,\" The brightness falls from Findon\'s gaze then, looking aside even as his hand fall from the other\'s grip -- and blinks slowly, \'ere turning once more to the Isilrim. \"My apologies. I\'ve spent years on the Riddermark. Their tongue has marred my own, I fear.\"

\"I mean simply that it was Thorondur Edrahil who spoke for the Prince at that time.\"

[Arathis(#30050)]

What softness before marked the Lord Isilrim is here lost for even as Findon looks away, Arathis pivots marble\'s heed upon the man. A stone\'s temper, paced yet level, underlies his bass.

\"By leisure or errand? And whose errand?

\"For we have heard little of the Horselords of late.\"

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"You have been with the Rohirrim?\" Ceredir interjects, this last catching his interest enough so that he now speaks. \"I was there only last year by invitation and also on an errand concerning trade, yet we could not convince them to revise matters.\"

Fin

A brow arches in turn, at the change in Arathis\' tone. It is at length Findon answers, a hand raised to ward off Ceredir for he answers him too, in a way.

\"I went in my Lord Telumehtar\'s service. \'Tis not a matter of trade, yet -- however I shall divulge no more without my Lord\'s leave. I am bound by word not to.\"

\"Suffice to say,\" He adds, \"It is family business.\"

[Arathis(#30050)]

\"Very well,\" answers the Lord Isilrim, seemingly pleased. The chalice before discarded is again retrieved, and tilted upon the Knight\'s lips.

A gentle sip, and he continues: \"And yet what of the Horselords? Long has Gondor campaigned, and many lands have been retaken yet we have heard naught from our allies.

\"Do northern threats claim their Riders?\"

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"But you are a Knight sir, are you not?\" Ceredir asks, puzzled, to Findon. \"I suppose that even your ilk are away on family business at times...?\"

Fin

\"Aye.\"

He chooses his words with care now, that Telumehtar. He plucks at the fingers of his thick gloves meant for heavy work or war, withdrawing one and laying it to rest by his winged helm. \"Wild men assail their villages and burn their crops in the north and there are strange beasts afoot on the grasslands at night, it is said.\"

Findon Fellhand barks a sudden laugh his mirth turned to the master scout, \"Aye, even Knights may have family business to attend, by their liege lord\'s leave. That lady spoke truly you are a student of good humor, young man!\"

But, his mirth is quickly stilled, as he quips a query to Arathis: \"But what of Gondor, and these campaigns you speak of? And where is the Prince? For I much desire to return to his service.\"

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"If so, it is unintentional, sir,\" Ceredir replies, the young man coloring red at his ears. Even so, he does not seem to be too discomfitted by the laugh from Findon. And more so, the reddening fades quickly as the topic turns, the Master Scout now turning in all seriousness to Arathis.

[Arathis(#30050)]

The air about the Isilrim lord grows thick: he is silent, peering long between the twain before him. Jaw jut outwards, he grates at length: \"It is unlike the Prince Imrahil to afford years to his requian.

\"Heed, for your years of absence have been fell: Umbar again holds an Emperor, who advances men sworn not only to the East, but to the Black Lord Morgoth, Claimant of Power, in attempt to usurp Gondor\'s crown.

\"Of these campaigns you shall learn, whether desired or not such are the terms of your Oath. For you shall return none to the Riddermark, had you planned it, brother. And for this grievance, I shall offer apology to the Lord Argamir myself, should it be needed.

\"Of the Swan much shall be soon demanded. The heirs of the Imrazor are missing, and the Prince sails to find them. Would you heed your Oath, you shall find me in the Chapterhouse.\"

With this, the Herald empties his vessel, and pivots sharply to depart.

Fin

Ashen of face, the Telumehtar\'s last glove is paused, half undone for this is much to take in at once. And yet, Findon\'s composure is quickly regained indeed, it is scarce lost, only halted.

\"You need not wait Herald, I come at once.\" The helm is gathered but he pauses -- a faint smile fleeting across his face as he turns to the scout.

\"Farewell, young Ceredir.\"

And so, he too turns, on the heel of Knight-Herald Arathis.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

Left to his own, Ceredir pulls on his black gauntlets, watching the hasty departure of the two Knights. He smirks, ever so slightly, following them out.