On the House

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.

Men and women fill the Steward\'s Hearth during the night, seeking out a meal, entertainment, and good company, among other things. Crimson flames flicker in the fireplace, and the sound of converse, glasses and plates clinking, and song fill the room.

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Weather:            Clear

Time:               Nighttime <23>

Season:             Winter

Date:               Orgilion - December 4, 3046

Real Time:          Wed May 13 21:22:06 2009

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[Menawa(#20113)]

The door opens, allowing in a sweep of cold air and a dusting of snow..because, what\'s winter without snow? Wearing a fur lined, dove grey cloak with the hood up, Menawa enters and quickly shuts the door behind her. Turning as she lifts her hands, she sweeps the hood back with chilled fingers, the walk here having left her with rosey cheeks and hands despite the cloak. She looks around with bright eyes, gaining her bearings.

The Common Room has its fair share of patrons this early evening, so that a low buzz of conversation and laughter fills the room. Many of the patrons are seated at the tables and booths, but one young man dressed in the livery of a Page of the Knights of Dol Amroth stands along the bar. He turns as cold air announces the arrival of another patron, and before his eyes truly focus on the new arrival--who is, after all, clearly not a grown man--he blurts out a greeting.

\"Dammit, Merenglir! You told me to meet you in a tavern an hour ago, and I\'ve run up and down half the city trying to figure out which one! Next time you want to waste money on ale, would you at least let me know where, dammit!\" he curses again.

Then the youth\'s eyes focus and he begins to turn bright red.

Menawa looks towards that blurted, and quite emotional, greeting and notes the eyes are focused on her. Lips quirking ever so slightly at the corners, she glides towards the bar, circumventing those in her way. She speaks in that calm, gentle voice that says she\'s either older than she looks, has practiced it very long, or it just comes natural.

\"I do hope you will forgive my thoughtlessness. Truely I didn\'t realize the hour had grown so late.\" She unclasps the frog on her cloak and genteely removes it from her shoulders, her gaze direct and amused as she looks to the youth.

\"Am I forgiven?\" Menawa asks in a voice that holds the very faintest of teasing note.

\"My Lady...pray, forgive me...My brother Merenglir...I thought...\" the youth stammers--Menawa\'s calm demeanor only worsening his discomfort. \"My brother had said to meet here or some tavern and he\'s about your height and I was angry waiting for him...\" Menelglir grows even redder as he speaks. \"I...I could buy you a drink?\"

Menawa dips her head slightly, her amusement growing just a touch deeper, but she doesn\'t laugh at him. Instead, she lifts her chin again and folds her cloak over her left arm, \"Rest yourself, Sir, I am not angry. My own brothers have fussed at me enough that I recognized the tone and knew you didn\'t mean me. Besides, I had not changed my name recently.\"

Giving a moment to gather her thoughts, she continues, \"If it would ease your conscience, I would concent to an ale. I admit I am famished. I spoke true when I said I lost track of time. Studied right through the dinner hour.\"

\"An ale...and..and..\" The youth frowns, digging into a pouch worn at a belt at his waist and pulling out a few meager coins, which he pokes through, disheartened. Then he brightens and looks up. \"An ale..no, two ales, and whatever the Lady wants. And...the tab...put it on the tab of the Telpekhor\'s. I am ...Merenglir. Merenglir Telpekhor,\" he grins to the barkeep--who scowls briefly, yet complies.

The so-called Merenglir grins back toward Menawa. \"You have brothers? I mean...what is your name? I mean...\" he coughs, self-conscious and awkward. \"I mean pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.\"

Menawa arches her brows oh so slightly as he gives his name to the bartender, then lowers them back to normal once the youth is looking her way again. At the introduction, she holds her hand out towards him, fingers still just a little chilled from her walk here.

\"I am Menawa Aedmithrusc, and it is a pleasure to make your accuantance, Merenglir Telpekhor.\"

\"No, no, I am Menel and my brother...Oh...never mind,\" the youth sighs, shaking his head of dark hair. \"You won\'t be able to tell us apart anyhow,\" he mumbles to himself, the words half incomprehensible at best. \"Merenglir it is, my Lady Menawa. What is it that you study?\"

[Menawa(#20113)] The fact that her hand, extended towards him, was missed doesn\'t phaze Menawa in the least. She simply returns it to her side of this conversation, folding it demurely with the other. \"I am a novice healer, Menel.\" She tells him, showing that she\'s not only hearing him, but the words are sinking in.

The withdrawn hand does, however, draw the youth\'s attention--he flushes as he realizes his mistake, and then flushes more as she repeats his name. \"I..uh..healer, yes, Lady. My cousin is a healer, too. Lady Laeraelin? You know her, perhaps? My brother and I--we are her wards now, at least nominally so.\"

\"It is..Menelglir, truthfully, my Lady,\" he adds as a quiet confession.

Menawa tilts her head slightly to consider him fully, memorizing his features. \"I will do my best to not mistake you for your brother.. or the other way around.\" She pauses, then adds his name deliberately. \"Menelglir.\"

\"That might be difficult, Lady Menawa,\" Menelglir laughs. \"We are twins and very much alike. Most of our cousins never were able to distinguish us. Though...there are some who seem to be able to tell us apart right away. I cannot say why or how.\" He shrugs.

\"Lady..it has been a pleasure, but since my brother is not here, likely he is awaiting me in another tavern, charging his ale to Lady Laeraelin. I should find him..?\" He glances at the ales that the barkeep has set down for them, but does not touch them, instead edging toward the door.

Menawa dips him a gentell, if shallow, curtsy, then stands straight. \"Fare thee well, Sir. Untill such a time as we meet again.\"

\"Goodbye!\" Menelglir calls happily and informally, blushing red at the woman once more before he rushes out the door. His ale, courtesy of the Telpekhors, is untouched.