Meeting in the Lion

[Arashen(#24692)]

The sun has set only an hour hence and a soft cold rain patters down steadily on Dol Amroth on the sea. Most people in the city have returned to that which they call home: squires and bachelor-knights to the tower common room tradesman and nobles alike to their homes and the warmth of family.

But it is the time of Tournament in the white city and every tavern, from the finest to the seediest, is full. The Rampant Lion is no less so. The finely appointed common room is packed tight with diners - many who wait near the walls for a seat or two to become available. At one of the tables set in the middle of the room sits Arashen Telpekhor. He is dressed in a clean tunic and his hair, while neatly combed, is yet damp from the rain. Others share his table but clearly are not with him. An empty chair sits next to him - holding his wet cloak to deter others from sitting. In his hands is cradled a steaming mug. His head is bent down and he appears to be staring into its contents.

He\'s late..again..and Ceredir knows it--so that he rushes into the Inn, green cloak dripping water into the floor. He pushes back the hood of the cloak as he enters the Common Room, grey eyes searching for the Blue Squire.

\"There you are! My apologies!\" he says, spotting Arashen and hurrying over to him.

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"Ceredir. You are late. Again.\" Says the Blue Squire, but he is grinning as he says it. He reaches over to remove his cloak. \"Sit. I\'ve already ordered us dinner.\"

Arashen looks around the room, craning his neck until he espies a particular servant. He nods to the man, who then promptly disappears behind a door.

\"Good, good.\" Ceredir sits down, rubbing his hands together to warm them and then taking off the wet cloak. \"What\'s to eat? What\'s to drink?\" He grins at the Squire.

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"Fish,\" replies Arashen. Then leveling a significant look at his friend, he adds: \"And tea.\"

After only the slightest of hesitations, he grins gain: \"You owe me money.\"

\"Tea,\" Ceredir snorts. \"Right, right. Be a good Scout. Yes, I know,\" he rolls his eyes. \"Look...I\'m not on duty..\" He\'s grinning though, and then he reaches into a pouch at his belt, fishing for coins. \"How much again?\" he winks. He sets his hand down on the table, palm down, a clink of coins underneath it.

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"Two silvers pieces,\" Arashen answers, laughing. \"And be grateful I\'m honest or else I could have claimed more.\"

\"And duty or no duty, you cannot hold your drink.\"

His good natured smile fades and the squire\'s visage grows serious. \"I heard what you said to Laeghen. Does it really bother you that your father will not acknowledge you?\"

You +give 2 Silver Dimes to Arashen.

Another small clink of coins, and Ceredir grins, removing his hand to reveal two silver dimes. \'I\'m a man of my word, Arashen. I don\'t go back on my word. Ever.\'

\'And I\'ve been drinking wine with dinner or ale since I was knee high. Just ..indulged a little more given the tournament,\' he shrugs, then lowers his voice. \'As for my father...\' A frown, then he pauses. \"Wouldn\'t it bother -you-? If you grew up thinking you were the son of a stinking tanner, knee deep in the filth and the foul stench--and then when you came of age to find out you were the son of a Knight--and a Knight that had thrown you out as a baby, like a piece of trash?\" Anger flares in his eyes and voice.

[Arashen(#24692)]

In response to the former, Arashen smiles at the scout, slaps him on the back and slides the money off the table. He drops the coins into a pouch at his belt and raises his head. Again, he wears a serious expression. \"I cannot know exactly how you feel, Ceredir,\" he begins, choosing his words with care. \"But perhaps I can come closer than most.\"

\"I was a foundling. I was left to die in wilds of Ithilien just hours after my birth - truly thrown away like trash, as you say it. I do not know who my true mother and father are. I was adopted by the Lady Laeraelin and her family made me one of them. She never married so I have never had a father, truth be told.\"

\"Remind me not to make any more bets with you,\" Ceredir says, ruefully watching the Scout scoop up the coins. \"Two silver dimes!! Dammit!\" Despite the words, though, he\'s grinning.

The smile fades as Arashen continues, Ceredir looking increasingly angry. \"That\'s...harsh,\" he says finally. \"But you _were_ adopted, taken in and raised as their son, as Lathnoss, my..adoptive father did. But still--even the Lady Gweneth mistook me for Elenur! Yet the old bastard won\'t so much as own up to the fact that I\'m his! And now..\" He pauses, eyeing the ales that a serving girl is setting down on another table. \"Do you really think I look like Laeghen? You think it\'s possible my mother is from his House?\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"I suppose it is possible,\" Arashen admits, reluctantly. \"But then I suppose people look like other people quite frequently.\"

\"I am not saying that you shouldn\'t be angry at this...Elenur? Truly, do you speak of Sir Elenur Bragollach?

\"Regardless,\" the young Telpekhor waves away his own distraction. \"The point is that you have a father and it is not truly Elenur. He only sired you.\"

\"I too am curious as to who my real parents are, in particular, my father. But I do not want this to change how I feel about my real family - for the Telpekhor are my real family. Do you understand? It is just that this seems to eat you up....\"

The tea has arrived, the pot and two cups set down between the two men, but Ceredir reaches a hand to catch the serving girl\'s wrist before she turns away. \"An ale please,\" he says grumpily, then turns back to the Squire.

He shakes his head. \"Yes. Sir Elenur Bragollach, though by what rights a man who throws his own son out...even if he had seen to it that I was raised far away to protect my mother, whoever she is...you would think that at least in private, he would acknowledge me!\" the Scout hisses angrily. \"All I wanted was to prove to him that I deserve to be his son--that I deserve to be more than the dirt poor \'son\' of a filthy, stinking tanner. Have -you- ever smelled the tannery, Arashen? Have you?\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

Arashen watches this exchange between Scout and serving girl with pursed lips. But he says naught on the subject.

Sighing, he admits, \"I have not smelled a tannery, no.\"

\"I am sorry this man gave you this life. But what do you expect from a man who would think this a suitable place for his son to be raised? It is not fair. It is not fair that my parents thought it better I should die than be adopted. It is not fair that given two young boys who were discarded that one went to a poor tanner and another to a wealthy noble house. But it is what it is.\"

[Barsaphad(#23963)]

The door to the \'Rampant is thrust open -- a choral flutter of the crimson hangings precede the entrance of a man clad in sable and ivory. His cape and hood are drawn free and thrust upon a rack of polished hardwood.

Lord Barsaphad Azrabar scans the room and all its gathered assembly with dark eyes only a moment passes \'ere he finds Arashen centered in his gaze. With long strides he crosses the room through the parting throng. He smiles upon the pair.

\"Scout. Squire.\"

\"No, it\'s not fair,\" Ceredir continues, oblivious to the fact that the sable-ivory clad man is crossing the room toward them. After all, the place _is_ crowded and noisy, and Ceredir is too wrapped up in his own anger to pay attention.

\"Not for either of us. In my case, now he has the chance to rectify things--to at the very least acknowledge that yes, I am his son, though I can\'t inherit his holdings or perhaps even be part of his House. But he isn\'t even man enough to do that. I tell you, Arashen, if I ever...\"

That sentence isn\'t finished as Barsaphad\'s voice cuts through the noise, the man coming to stand at the table and speak to them. \"Sir...\" he blinks.

The serving girl sets an ale down in front of him.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Arashen too is unaware of his knight\'s approach until the greeting is offered. He looks up suddenly and grins, \"Good even, sir. Come to have a bit of dinner?\"

The Blue Squire\'s hands are wrapped around a steaming mug - the scent of herbal teas wafts up from it. Looking then, like he had been struck by a sudden thought, the young Telpekhor quickly adds: \"You do not have need of me, do you sir?\" He makes to stand up.

[Barsaphad(#23963)]

\"No no...sit, Arashen.\" Barsaphad reaches with a long arm to drag back a polished chair, into which he lowers his large frame. With a look he summons a server, and soon a platter is brought his way -- warm bread and a pewter bowl of a creamy soup. At his left hand it lowered a glass of water and ice. A coin sends the server on her way.

He ladels a full spoon of the chowder into his mouth and looks at the Scout -- a single eyebrow raising, \"You look less green than last I saw you, Master Ceredir...but still worse for wear.\" He leans an elbow on the table and points his spoon at the Scout\'s face, \"Looks painful. Training hard?\"

He turns to Arashen, \"So tell me, Telpekhor...what did you think of your first training a\'sea?\"

Ceredir reaches out, pulling the ale toward him and looking glum at Barsaphad\'s question. \"Yes, sir, training hard, sir,\" he stares into his ale, then takes a very long pull on it. \"The Ranger Laeghen...erm...showed me how to better use my sword. Have you heard, sir, if he\'s improved at all? Seemed to be badly wounded in that final competition....\" He looks up quickly. Half his ale is already done.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Two platters are soon served - each bearing a fish, dead eyes staring sightlessly at the diners - and bread. Arashen reseats himself and picks up his knife and fork, but ere he begins carving up his dinner, he leans forward eagerly. \"The ballistae were fascinating sir. The next day I went to the Prince\'s library and began reading accounts of sea battles win which they were used. They seem highly effective in certain situations...\"

[Barsaphad(#23963)]

\"Indeed...there are one of the only weapons we have that might sink an enemy ship...albeit slowly.\" The soup and bread is washed down by deep swallows of icewater. The food, now effectivly dispached, is quickly forgotten as the Knight reclines.

\"Ranger Laegen? Yes...he has a certain...charm,\" The Knight coughs, \"...that makes for interesting practice.\"

\"Then he\'s always.....\" Ceredir coughs, looks into his ale, then looks up...\"like that?\" One hand touches the remnants of the bruising around his nose, but the young Scout perks up at the talk of the ballistae. \"I\'d like to try my hand at it again. When I\'m not so...green,\" he scowls. \"But..how else do you fight the enemy? on board a ship, that is?\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

The knight\'s assessment of Ranger Laeghen elicits a snort and smirk from Arashen. Then perhaps realizing in whose company he sits, he looks up quickly to Barsaphad then down again to his dinner. The smirk disappears and the Blue Squire seems to acquire an intense interest in his fish. He stabs it with his fork and cuts a piece off.

[Barsaphad(#23963)]

\"If you want to know the true secret of warfare on the sea...\" Barsaphad leans forward, \"...from the moment you spy the enemy...the battle is in Ulmo\'s hands. I cannot control the wind I cannot steer the currents...we but ride what is given and do as much damage as wel can before the battle must be ended or lost for all. We do not choose our ground for battle -- it chooses us.\"

At Arashen\'s snort, the Knight turns his head and smiles dangerously. As the Squire regains composure, Barsaphad nods his approval.

\"Wind and wave, yes sir,\" Ceredir nods, draining the rest of his beer quickly. He nearly chokes, though--Arashen\'s snort causing him to have to stifle a laugh of his own just as he is downing the ale.

A few coughs, and he recovers, looking up to Barsaphad. \"Sir...how are ships built? I mean...there are shipyards here? It\'s always fascinated me...\"

Across the crowded room, though, a green-clad scout is gesturing for Ceredir to follow him and in a hurry--likely that Laeghen is wanting Ceredir for some task or another. \"Pardon me,\" Ceredir says, then, as he jumps to his feet. \"I\'d like to learn more...see how it\'s all done and such, if and when there\'s time...Thanks for the fish and...tea...Arashen,\" he grins. \"I think I owe you dinner now.\"

[Barsaphad(#23963)]

\"There is no secret in the building of ships...you would be welcome at the shipyards if it interested you.\" Barsaphad stands, and drops another small coin on the table, \"I must depart as well.\"

To the squire he adds, \"Tomorrow we train for the calvary charge. Be prepared.\"

He stands, and with a nod he leaves -- the din of the inn the only sounds that carries into the dark and drizzling streets.