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Watching Thûllir's efforts in getting the two representatives of animal kingdom out of the pub, Pele wondered whether her healer skills would be called for. While there was some resistance from the hound, he was not biting, so at least there wouldn't be any bleeding bite marks to treat.

"What?" Pele responded to Kaylin's question with her own, her mouth still half-full. Hastily she brushed off the few crumbs that managed to escape from her mouth as she spoke, and then swallowed the delicious morsel. She supposed she might as well finish the work she had started, and afterwards left the cloth in an easily visible place for Edgor to find as she came around to the side of the counter intended for customers.

She shrugged and grinned, as she explained to Kaylin: "Happens when I'm so focused on one thing and don't really pay attention to everything else happening around me. I guess."

A Goose

The goose had barely managed to triumphantly snatch a beak full of the ham from the air before it flew on out of his reach - and into someone’s boot, propelling it further over to the door. Then everything went dark.

The goose froze for a single hot second before going absolutely berserk. Was that a JACKET? he knew full well what these monstrous humans put in these things! He flailed and honked underneath it for some time before he was finally able to force his neck through one of the sleeves, whereupon a serious talking-to was delivered. The goose shuffled its feet but honked unrepentantly as it scuttled towards the door, shrugging the jacket off its back. It was leaving because it had decided to, certainly not because it had become a dreadful nuisance and would be denied entry next time. Mournfully it flapped out after the ham.

@Romeran @Pele Alarion @Karis Ziranphel


She grinned when Pele was momentarily confused but still finished her task of whiping the bar clean. "Well I'm sure that skill comes in handy as captain," Kaylin mused. "Getting other stuff done without even having to think about it while focusing on another task."

The honking was near deafening as the goose kept reacting to Thûllir's coat which had been thrown over him. Kaylin wasn't sure whether the goose had 'understood' the ranger's orders or whether it was simply following the food out the door.

Kaylin clapped her hands together a few times in applause. "Success!" she exclaimed. "Although now we will need a new source of entertainment." She waved at Edgor and pointed out Romeran and herself. "New recruit needs to be broken in - another round!" It mattered little that Romeran had still to finish his first drink.

Pele's ears rang with Goose's honking as it won the battle with the jacket and eventually left the establishment in favour of getting the ham which had gone out the door too, or at least so it appeared since the bird did not pay too much attention to Thûllir.

Once the action was over, Pele turned her attention back to the people. "Whatever I may have done," she began, and wondered what all she might have done without her being aware of it. Not that she remembered being this much absent-minded at some point. "I am not going to serve you drinks at least. Nor drag you home after." At least no bartending was actually expected of her as Edgor got back to his duties, looking much entertained by having lured Pele into doing 'dirty' work.

She had meant to leave a while ago, but the circus with the goose and the hound had caught her attention, and now Pele wondered whether she should still remain and enjoy the company a bit longer.

Swan Knight Silinde Merenion
At the bar

He let all the hustles in the room for what they were. The ambiance was much heavier than it was back home. Beers and wines were available in the taverns in Dol Amroth too, but he was not really interested in those, except it had southwest Gondorian origins. All Numenorean discussions and shouts went by him, not catching what those were all about. Sindarin was his first and foremost language. He had been a better speaker in the past, but about fifteen years on, he hadn’t heard or spoken the tongue as it was not necessary for his station in Edhellond and the headquarters of the knights in Dol Amroth. But out here in the north this had fully changed, or it had ever been this way? He was not jealous at the immortal to see them leave for the sea and coursing westbound. Where they were going to, was unknown. But they never returned. It was a sort of one way route, you took but never could return from.

The more he thought of it, as he had various discussions about the matter, it felt a rather nauseating place, where no other species lived than only your own. The concept of mortality was devoid there as he understood. Not fully as plants and animals would be mortal, and still died. But the immortals would not. The concept was not appealing for him. Middle Earth, though violent at some point and far more dangerous, had better virtues. Silinde lived his life to the fully so far, and would be glad to dream eternally at some point, where flesh and bones converted into other beings. All of him had lived before in other persons and elements, and he was his own vessel now with a grownup spirit living in it. At some point he left it behind. Would he miss it? Likely not, as the vessel would grow old and would deteriorate in time. He drank the last of his brew, and as nothing was to enjoy really in here, he left as he had come, using a side door. And returned upstairs to his rented room. He would explore further the town, today or tomorrow.

Thûllir Bregedýr

He almost couldn’t believe it worked, but the goose seemed to understand him. Freeing itself eventually from the coat he had thrown over it, it honked loudly and exited the pub with a quick shuffle and the flapping of wings. And with that, the show was over. He was amused to hear Kaylin clap and call out, and he shot her a grin with a shake of his head.

Thûllir dusted off his clothes and then walked over to retrieve his coat. It looked a bit worse for wear, and he figured it could do with a cleaning before he wore it again. He gave a nod to the tall young man who had opened the door. “Thank you for your assistance, Romeran. Looks like you have a drinking challenge to attend to…while I go clean up.” Turning, he made his way through the door at the back of the room that led towards the guest privies, and availed himself of the water pump and soap. His hands and a few scratches needed cleaning first, and then he attempted to restore some order to his tousled hair.

Returning to the common room of the pub, Thûllir walked over to their table and rehung the coat on his chair. “Well that was a bit more eventful than I was anticipating.” He took his seat and reached for his wine for a drink before looking over at Pele. “Would you like to join us, or are you heading out for the night Captain? I promise I’ll not look to you to drag them home.”

He'd had a long shift, or at least it seemed long. Ric was glad to be done with it, and to finally get off duty. And he had another day of it to look forward to, tomorrow, and the next day... The days were running together slightly, and despite the fact he liked his job, Ric was counting the days until his next day off. In the meantime, though, his stomach was complaining. It had been hours since lunchtime, and he really just wanted to grab a meal and get some sleep.

After signing out from a long day's work, Ric still wore his uniform as he found his steps carrying him to the nearest establishment that served food. The Guesthouse, which was not unknown to him, though he didn't exactly frequent it. There were a few others in there, he noted. He didn't know them, but it seemed that some members of the small group were enthusiastic and very likely drinking, and so might be a little noisy. Quietly, he moved to a small table in one corner of the room, far from the other group, and asked for a bowl of stew with some bread when someone came to ask for his order.

While waiting for his supper, he took out a small, leather-bound book, flipping through it thoughtfully as he rested one elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand. Ric had jotted down many notes in his little book, and looked through it countless times, trying to fit all the pieces together, yet there were many still missing. After a moment of studying the last page written on, he began writing, focused on adding a bit more to the remaining blank pages, without giving much attention to anyone else in the place.

"Eventful indeed. Seems like there has been some great escape from a nearby farm or something, and the animals had conspired to come for some refreshments here," Pele laughed softly upon Thûllir's return from cleaning himself up, as she gave him a quick look-over to see if there were no injuries. "The hound didn't get his teeth into you, did he?"

Having considered her options, Pele eventually decided that since she had come here for company, she should actually enjoy some. "I might join and stay for a while longer, if y'all don't mind. Don't have any duties to hurry back to this evening," she said and picked a seat for herself. However, if she was to stay, she'd have to pick something to drink again.

"More tea, Edgor, please?" she requested, and then settled more comfortably, glancing about the establishment in a leisurely manner to see if there were no other animals hiding.

Having assisted with the goose and hound event Romeran nodded to Thûllir and returned to the table where Kalin was. During this time Captain Pele had arrived and Romeran was quite thankful that there would be another person and perhaps that meant the attention would be directed towards him. He smiled and nodded to the Captain who luckily seemed more concerned with Thûllir who Romeran just noticed perhaps could have been injured, the Captain would take care of that, if it was the case, he felt confident.

Before Romeran could even finish his drink, Kaylin had already ordered another round. He grinned and laughed slightly, it had already been a surprisingly eventful afternoon with all the animals and he felt he earned another drink already. Romeran picked up his first drink and in one motion downed it. It was lucky for Romeran that he was such a large man with a reasonable enough tolerance he thought as he wiped his beard with the back of his hand. It would be quite embarrassing if he drank to much and made a fool of himself, but worse still if he couldn't keep up with the other rangers.

"Always happy to have you Captain" Romeran said as she asked if anyone minded, he looked over to Kalin and Thûllir but he doubted that they would protest, at least not seriously especially since Thûllir had suggested it after all. Romeran was looking over towards Edgor wondering if perhaps he shouldn't have so eagerly finished his first drink as he found himself without a drink having pre-emptively necked the first one. He let out a quiet, unintentional sigh.

"Is it always this eventful here?" he asked the group.

Edgor seemed a bit busy for the moment, and they had to wait on the drinks a bit while Thûllir went to clean up. Grinning after him, Kaylin then looked on with no small amount of approval as Romeran finished his drink in one last go. Before she knew it, Thûllir had returned and Pele was quickly checking for any visible injuries. Once a healer, Kaylin thought to herself, amused.

She might have huffed at Thûllir's assertion he would not look to Pele to 'drag them home', but Kaylin knew he was merely joking. Be that as it may... She leaned towards Rome a bit. "Seems like someone thinks one or both of us won't be able to hold our liquor. He should know me better by now, and looking at you you should be able to throw back a few drinks without being worse for wear. He might actually be the light-weight out of the three of us," she confided to Romeran, making no effort to speak quietly and knowing full well Thûllir could hear her. "My husband is not in the habit of drinking for sport." A compliment, really.

"Excellent!" she commented when the Captain agreed to stay, but then slapped the table and rolled her eyes when Pele asked for tea. "Oh, please!"

At Rome's question, Kaylin gave Thûllir and Pele a thoughtful look. "Um. Well I haven't know the place to be dull." That might be partially her doing - some days and nights, anyway. She was rather pleased that she'd had entirely nothing to do with the hound and the goose. She needed a bit of good credit with Edgor.

Edgor arrived with all their orders at once, but knowing Kaylin he had immediately provided four more glasses of what Rome and she were drinking, along with Pele's tea. Kaylin gave the man a huge grin. "Edgor, you gem of a man!" she exclaimed.
She pushed one of the glasses closer to Rome. "Down this goes," she instructed solemly, as if she were giving him instructions on the training grounds. "Unless you want to lose to a boisterous redhead!" Kaylin pointedly took one of the other glasses and threw it back in several long gulps. She could feel the liquid running warm down her throat. "First meetings are important," she said, a hint of hoarseness to her voice, but the amusement in her eyes was much more obvious.

"And what of you two?" she inquired of Pele and Thûllir. "It really is much more fun when everyone joins in." She raised an eyebrow. "Or will you be sticking to... wine... and... tea?"

"Hmm?" Pele shrugged in response to Kaylin's eye roll and explored the counter top, running her fingers along a lengthy cut which she assumed to be made by some careless handling of a knife or another sharp object.

"Sometimes it is reasonably quiet here and fit for reading books. Hounds and geese are definitely not a common occurrence," she noted to Romeran, as she lifted her eyes to look at the company of friends instead of counter top.

As soon as Edgor had brought the drinks, she immediately reached for tea and after blowing on it took a careful tiny sip as she watched over the rim of her cup Kaylin emptying her glass quickly. "Well..." she responded to the challenge thoughtfully, though merriment was clear in her eyes. "I have a reputation to uphold, so no drinking games for me. Besides, I'd drink that stuff only when badly wounded and in horrid lot of pain, with a healer looming over me about to clean out the infection and stitch me up."

It was either that he’d come by to walk his daughter home from work, or else he’d come to make sure that the friend he had left drinking in the bar downstairs was not still there, nor still drinking. Because if the latter were true, then Narradir was going to have to rejoin that friend and make sure that he personally drank at least half of that ale … for himself. That was what friends did, after all. For a friend's own welfare. Leaving without leaving his share of the coin though, that had been a mistake, that the forester did not realise until after he’d departed the last time. And then his wife had sent him straight back to make it right, and bring their child safe home at the same time. Their rather grown up employed at the Guesthouse child.


So it was a case of all of the above that saw Narradir enter the Guesthouse, for a second time that day. It was though, something else entirely which made him linger. For his friend had in fact apparently since departed, and his daughter was not ready to leave yet; let alone aware that he was come to escort her .. But there was somebody else who did not expect to see the burly forester in the inn. And it was not Edgor, who merely grinned to see one of his frequent patrons back so soon. But it was Edgor who had been intending to take over the stew and bread with Aderic had ordered. So at that, Narradir, declared “bring over my usual, please Ed,” and relieved the barkeep of his current task, so that the custodian could see to ‘the usual’, while the customer strode immediately over to stand beside the City Guard, just on the outskirts of Ric's peripheral vision.


Thinking better of the plan to serve the man his dinner, the large not-waiter dropped both the stew and bread before Aderic with a clatter, and some threat that it might splash his precious reading material. The spoon actually bounced off the table and looked set to land on the Guard's lap. Then, as though to entertain himself until his own order arrived, Narradir pulled out a chair opposite the other man, spun it on one leg so that the backrest was against the table, and splayed a leg out from either side as he lowered onto the seat. His massive arms he sprawled over the top of the backrest as he gazed at the City Guard unashamedly.

“Lieutenant, is it ?” he plucked at the officer's sleeve in some surprise. At which point, Edgor ambled over, set down two large pints of ale before the large man, and backed off to find a better seat. Narradir picked up one pint, downed the entire thing in one go, his adam's apple seeming it might burst out of his throat in protest, while the drinker raised a hand to ward off any objections until he was done. Then, dragging the back of that same hand across his hair-drawn jaw, the forester pushed away the emptied glass, and drew the second over to sit ready in it's place. "I've been hoping we might get the chance to talk," was the only explanation he gave up to clue in the Guard what this might be all about. "Just us boys .." He waved his free hand between them, and then wrapped it slowly back around the full drink.

Turned out he had some time to kill. He could not have planned it better if he had planned it at all.

@Ercassie

Giving all of his focus on the journal before him, Ric tried to tune out the other sounds of the room. He didn't mind so much, so long as the other group weren't getting out of hand, which they were not. He didn't plan to stay long anyway; just long enough to finish his supper and go back to the small apartment where he lived. He'd be glad to shed the armor and uniform, and hang up his sword for the evening, once he got there. But for now, the sword was propped against the wall next to him, within reach if he needed it for some reason, but out of his way while he was seated at the table. Right now, his pencil was his preferred weapon... against intangible things, which could not be fought with steel.

The charcoal stick, wrapped in paper to keep the char from rubbing onto his fingers, was a far easier and neater option for him than ink, quill, and all the mess it promised. He could carry this easily closed up in his journal, and jot things down quickly when he had a chance. Reaching a pause in his writing, the young man tilted his head in thought, considering. After taking a moment to organize his thoughts, he bent his head over the book once more, scrawling his words swiftly upon the paper.

He was in the middle of a sentence when the bowl of stew clattered onto the table near the leather bound book, sloshing haphazardly, and came precariously close to splashing all across the open pages nearby. Startled, Ric instinctively jerked the book closer to himself, as his other hand hurriedly sought to catch the spoon that had flipped out of the stew, splattering a few drops of the broth onto Ric's face. The bread roll, having been dropped on the table following the bowl, rolled slightly and ended up on one of the journal's pages, but that was less important at the moment. Having barely managed to capture the spoon before it slid from his lap to the floor, Ric glanced up at the person responsible, baffled that a Guesthouse employee would have done such a careless thing. No apology followed, that might have shown that it was accidental, so he could only conclude that it was not. The very large man before him was not any employee of the establishment that he had ever seen before, if he was one at all. And something about him, the way he helped himself to take a seat at Ric's table, told him that his manner of delivering Ric's supper had indeed been deliberate. But why?

The observation that he was a lieutenant almost sounded derisive, to Ric, or at least skeptical. As if the stranger didn't believe such a thing. Why shouldn't he believe it, Ric wondered? Because of his young age? Still quite confused by the... almost hostility from the stranger, Ric's first instinct was to ask who this man might be, and inform him that he must have him mistaken with someone else. It didn't take much imagination for Ric to make a guess whom the man might have mistaken him for, but that was beside the point... he got as far as opening his mouth to speak, thinking to ask who this man was, and tell him that he had the wrong man, but then two glasses of ale arrived, and the stranger promptly took a moment to drink one down without coming up for air.

Staring in some disbelief at this entire display, however, gave Ric a few seconds to think in the meanwhile. He decided upon a different approach. Whoever this was, perhaps it might be smarter to find out a little information before saying anything else. No one ever believed him anyway, so why should he bother trying to explain, yet again, about his twin? While the big man was still downing his drink, Ric slid the roll off of his journal, noting with some annoyance that the bread had left a slightly oily spot behind on the page. With the charcoal stick placed inside the book, Ric closed the journal and stored it safely out of sight, in a fold of his clothing.

After taking a moment to use a napkin to wipe broth from his face, and lap where the spoon had landed, Ric took a deep breath to remember to stay calm. Sitting back in his seat, Ric slid the bowl of stew off to one side, placing the spoon on the table beside it on the folded napkin, before returning his sea-green gaze to the man who had invited himself to his table. He regarded him with some amount of wariness. Talk? Just the two of them? What for, Ric wondered? He gave those words, along with the tone in which it was said, some careful consideration. "Lieutenant is correct," He answered after a moment, calmly. "What would you like to speak about, sir?" He had no idea what name to put with this man, but that didn't stop him from addressing him politely. What could the two of them have to discuss, for that matter? Was this someone who knew his brother, perhaps who had done some sort of 'business' with him?

The forester pushed his tongue around inside one cheek, as he watched the City Guard dab at his spills. He was very cordial about his words, this fellow. Which proved he did not know who he was speaking to. He was unfortunately, alone in that regard.

“Are you not going to eat that then, Lieutenant ?” Narradir leaned back to mirror Aderic. albeit with more peril for the supportive back of his seat was in front of him. “Come on, I got myself a drink so you would not feel all awkward like, and everything.”

Raising the not-emptied ale in one hand, the larger man nodded as though granting the other a toast, although he then lowered the beverage without drawing from it. His other hand drummed bruised knuckles across the wooden table top, without care or concern either. After he had replaced the ale on the table, undrunk, Narradir turned his second hand of knuckles to jin the first, toward some rather noisy percussion attempt by this point. “My thinking is, you understand, that this might take more than a minute. And you don’t want to be letting that get cold.”

He gestured toward the stew offside, and waited a while. “Oh and ..” he interrupted, just as he believed that the man might in fact revisit the prospect of his meal. “It’s not so much something I would ‘like’ to speak about. Lieutenant. More rather something I just can not help but ‘have’ to speak about. If you take my understanding.”

He indicated the breadroll. “You’re going to want to dunk that, in the stew there. To make the best of it,” he recommended, with an unnervingly endless grin. It was always interesting to see if such a ‘suggestion’ might spur another to do. Would the guard refuse to, out of spite, or even fear, unwilling to comply at all with his ‘guest’ ? Or would he act as though he was going to dunk the bread anyway, albeit that it might look like he was obeying the non-officer’s instructions ?

“This is about my daughter,” his voice dropped several octaves, if such a thing were possible. The grin vanished. The knuckles rose from their play and Narradir cracked them all together in front of him. And waited to see what cordial words the Guard might offer up in response to that.

@Ercassie

"I shall eat, in due time." Ric assured the stranger, maintaining a calm and polite tone. There was a significant contrast between the stranger's boisterous volume compared to Ric's softer tone; for the young lieutenant hardly ever spoke in what would be described as 'loud'. Most of the time, he received complaints that he did not speak loudly enough, in fact. He idly thought this stranger seemed in need of a reminding that he ought to use his indoor voice. Ric didn't figure he would take kindly to the suggestion, but he certainly wished the obnoxious man would finish what he had to say, and be on his way. He preferred to eat his meal in peace, and had no intention of starting on it until this man had left.

Watching as the man started up some sort of drum roll with his knuckles upon the table, as if to build anticipation for whatever he thought would happen, Ric mere waited. It might take a while, indeed, if the man did not get on with this 'talk' he seemed so eager to deliver, and yet did not actually seem willing to begin. "It can be reheated," He pointed out, patiently, concerning the stew. "May I ask what it is that you felt was so important, that you would like to discuss?" He inquired, trying to gently nudge him to divulge something of what had led him to interrupt Ric's evening. The stranger's reply only served to mystify Ric further, however. Not something he'd 'like' to speak about, but can't help but have to speak about? "No...I'm afraid I don't quite take your meaning," He admitted with a slight shake of his head, a faintly puzzled expression showing. He was beginning to find it slightly difficult to remain patient.

It was all he could do then, not to sigh as the man delayed even further, by trying yet again to nudge Ric toward eating. "Yes, I intend to do exactly that," He answered, with a slow nod. That was, in fact, why he had asked for bread to go with the stew. But none of this had anything to do with the stranger's problem, he was sure. A moment later, he tilted his head thoughtfully, regarding him with a new consideration. Why was he so intent on wanting Ric to eat right now, whilst he watched? It occurred to him, perhaps, that his brother may have made an enemy of the man, to the point he might wish to kill him. Considering some of the things Ric knew Mar had done.. it wouldn't surprise him greatly. And the man had brought the food to him, after all. Who knows if he hadn't slipped something into it once he got it out of the kitchen?

Before he could dwell upon that thought much longer, the reason and purpose of the intrusion was finally made clear, and yet..at the same time, less clear than ever. "Your daughter?" Ric repeated, trying to conceal his surprise and confusion. He wasn't sure how successful he had been, however, because it did rather catch him by surprise. He leaned back in his seat as he regarded the man anew. So this was not some sort of shady business thing going on, which his brother was involved with. Hopes of catching any sort of nefarious dealings in the act faded from Ric's mind as he wondered what sort of trouble Mar had caused for this man's daughter. And then realized, there was no reason to refrain from letting him know that he was absolutely in the dark about whatever he was so upset about. "I regret to inform you, sir, I have no idea who your daughter is." He confessed, sincerely.

The knuckle cracking was obviously meant to intimidate him. Ric found his memories drifting back to schoolyard incidents. Fights, some might call them. He wasn't sure 'fight' was the right word, when several upset, and previously antagonized children all sought to teach a lesson to one whom they believed had wronged them. He'd been beat up plenty of times in his childhood, courtesy of his peers who refused to believe he was innocent of the things they accused him. Things he now knew Mar was really responsible for. But, never by anyone so vastly outmatching him in size. His eyes lingered on the bruised knuckles of the big man before him. Probably evidence of previous, recent fights. "If there has been any wrong done to her..I assure you... it was not my doing. But I would certainly do all in my power to investigate the matter, if you could but provide me with more details." He suggested, very much hoping to de-escalate a situation which could quickly turn bad for him.

It was, once again, time for a meeting. Old Zadok had been going to these meetings for nearly seventy years, once a week without fail. His bones creaked and his muscles ached, but he was bound and determined to get to the tavern and have a cup of coffee with his mates, a pipe of tobacco or two would not be remiss either. The Guild of Fishmongers was not what it once was though. Seventy years ago they would have had to rent out the entire place to fit everyone in, now the Guild sported only three members, all of whom were older than the cobblestones beneath the old pub. Glory, if being a fishmonger could have ever been seen as glorious in any light, had passed them by and the years and rolled on like waves in the sea. Zadok sighed, his shoulders sagging a bit.

Still, Zadok was not going to miss a meeting, it was the only time he got to see his two oldest and dearest friends. Caranó had retired years ago and now rarely left his second level home, and Gehrmann was even worse. All three of them were childless widowers, lonely old men that stared at the passing clouds and recited old love letters more than they talked to another living person. Zadok had the blessing of still owning a boat so he could go out on the water if he felt like it. Caranó and Gehrmann might as well be shut ins. He was the youngest member of the guild at eighty-eight years old. His two friends were only a few years older but never stopped called him “Young Zadok” and probably never would. It had annoyed him for at least half a century, now being called young was something that made him smile.

The pub was quiet, a few people here and there chatting or arguing, debating as the young folks tried to call it these days, about a dozen subjects that Zadok only heard snatches of here and there. The city was still full of comings and goings, dramas, and comedies. At least some things never changed. Even as the old guilds fell to ruin, the city itself remained full of life and vigor, avoiding decadence and decay. No, Minas Tirith had strong bones, ancient bones, that stretched long into the past. “You never cease to age though,” Zadok said aloud, mumble to himself as he squeezed passed patrons at long wooden tables. The smell of bread and stew and hearty lager filled the air. The heat of the kitchens, Zadok could feel too; his tired bones could have purred. He removed his hat when he entered and tucked it under his arm. His hair still had some color to it, tiny flecks of the brunette hair his wife had so loved, but now mostly his pate was covered in a sheet of shaggy iron-gray locks.

Their customary table was empty in the back. Whether by design or good fortune, Zadok could not guess, but he was glad of it. He sat down with a sigh and a thump. He nodded to the keeper behind the bar and held up three fingers. They’d been doing this for so long and the routine varied so little over the intervening decades that words were needless. By the time he’d removed his peacoat and hung it over the chair’s back three steaming cups of coffee sat around the table.

“Thank ma’am, much obliged,” he said with a nod. He took a sip of the nearest one. It was late in the year for drinking coffee passed the early morning hours, but the dark liquid went down smooth.

Caranó and Gehrmann would be arriving any moment now. Caranó would be first and complain about something the moment he sat down, the same as ever. Gehrmann would not be too far behind, his route being slightly longer than the other two.

“I passed three wine shops on my way here. Three! Can you believe it Zadok? What’s so great about wine that you need three shops within shouting distance of each other? Red or white was always enough for me.” Caranó sat down with a harrumph, grabbing one of the remaining cups with a greedy gesture, warming his hands on it before taking a sip.

“It’s good to see you, old man,” Zadok said.

“Oh, I suppose it’s good to see you too Zadok. Gehrmann isn’t here yet?”

Zadok smiled softly and shook his head. “Not yet, you know how he walks slow with that new cane of his.”

“Fah!” countered Caranó, wonderfully sour as ever. “He just wants to show it off to the ladies. He doesn’t even need that monstrosity.”

“You really think so?” Zadok asked, a mischievous smile spreading on his old lips.

“He’s ninety-seven years old and that man has the mind of a thirty-year-old,” Caranó pronounced, taking a sip of his coffee. “He’s looking for a sugar mamma, he is. He’s worn out his welcome with the fisherwomen and now he’s trying his hand with the haberdashers.”

“It would be nice if he married again, no? That means there might be hope for you too.”

“Fah!” the white-bearded old man said, mumbling grumpily to himself. “The day that salty oaf starts courting a girl a third his age will be the day I decide to marry a pike.”

“You could do worse,” said Gehrmann, who had been standing behind his old friend for quite some time now. “I always figured you for a trout man myself, you never did like them feisty.”

“What in the seven blazing!” Caranó nearly spilled his coffee and Zadok roared with laughter. “Sure, sure, have a laugh at the old man, go on you young whippersnapper.”

“It’s good to see you two as well,” Gehrmann took his seat and the final cup of coffee.

Caranó grumbled wordlessly into his cup. Zadok took a moment to look his friends over. He was not sure how many more meetings there would be. At some point time and age were going to catch up with one or all three of them. He did not relish the thought of coming here alone, without this comradery. Sooner or later though, it was just going to be him sitting at this table, sipping coffee while the world continued to roll on by him.

“I suppose you heard about what happened to Young Eld Lafnerson?” Gehrmann said at length.

Caranó nodded, as did Zadok. “Lad pulled up some sort of tentacled behemoth, I heard.”

“I heard it was some sort of great crab or lobster, all slimey and whatnot.”

“Oh you two old fools. You’d listen to any old song a pretty pair,” Gehrmann took a drink of coffee, “would tell you and not even notice her stealing all your coin at the same time. No. ‘Tweren’t no kraken or crab.”

He leaned in close and looked about, eyeing everyone in the room suspiciously. “’Twasn’t something simple like that. I was there with him when he hauled on board. Lad caught himself a selkie, he did.”

Zadok eyed his friend warily. It was not for naught that sailors and fishermen had developed reputations of exaggerating the truth to spin yarn. Old Gehrmann looked sincere if not a bit shifty eyed, but Zadok was aware of his talent for imposture. Caranó didn’t say anything either. Both men stared at their friend with the utmost incredulity. Gehrmann, for his part, leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. He smacked his lips loudly then pulled out his pipe, a few puffs later and he was surrounded by a familiar ring of fragrant smoke.

“A selkie?” Zadok asked, apparently too loud.

“Shhh!” Gehrmann eyed him aghast. “Do want to bring… will you be quiet?”

“Sorry,” Zadok said, sighing, then “A selkie?”

Gehrmann nodded. Caranó slapped the table. “Aha! You almost had us going, you old dog! I nearly bought it, I did. Who would have thought after seventy years you can still pull the wool over my eyes.”

“I ain’t pulling the wool over your eyes you old codger!” Gehrmann hissed. “I’m serious. I was there when he hauled it on board. Saw her with my own two eyes I did,” he leaned so far over the table he was nearly standing. “They were the most outlandishly blue I’ve ever seen. Bluer than, well, than then sea.”

“Gehrmann,” Zadok started, but a hand from the old gaunt man put a stop to any words of admonition he might have spoken.

“Eld is my nephew, the grand child of my younger sister. I was on his boat because he wanted to spend time with me, or something, I don’t know. We never really got ‘round to what he was wanting to say because the first haul of the day was when, well, when she, the, the selkie showed up.”

“Eld is your great-nephew?” Caranó asked in surprise?

“What?” Gehrmann looked started and out of sorts. “That’s all you take from what I just said? Yes, he’s my great-nephew, you old dirt clod. You knew that. You went to his second birthday party. Don’t you remember?”

Caranó looked at him and harrumphed. Memories were not what they used to be; distant relations of friends were not always what the mind decided to keep. Even Old Zadok had trouble remember details about the lives of his two friends. It was news to him that Eld was related to him, but he’d kept quiet. So strange that he could remember the first fish he’d ever caught: a sea bass while sitting on the starboard aft of his father’s trawler, manning the lines while the hired hands worked the nets on the port side. It was a stormy day, drizzling. Yet Zadok struggled to remember all the children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews of his neighbors, all of whom had been to his house a dozen times over the years. He wondered just how cut out for life on solid earth he was.

“At first we thought it was some great lump of seaweed or per’aps some clothing someone threw out, but then we saw the eyes. They glowed, verily I tell you, they glowed like the stars above.”

“Blue, right?” Zadok asked, confirming he was listening.

“Aye, a startling shade of blue too. Somehows, we were the only ones to see her. The other two fishermen’s, Eld’s hirelings, didn’t see anything. It was the strangest thing. She weren’t hidden, not exactly. She was all covered by the rope and wearing seaweed or some such and– ”

“How’d you know it was a selkie? Ain’t they supposed to be seals like?” interrupted Caranó.

“Well,” Gehrmann hesitated, his lower lip quivering, “I don’t know how we knew, not exactly. She weren’t no human girl, nor a elf neither.”

“And how are you sure about that?” Zadok asked.

“Would you two fish heads stop interrupting me?” He asked, his voice raising an octave. A few people nearby looked over, lost interest almost immediately, and turned back to their own conversations. Gehrmann was silent a long moment, making sure no one was dropping any eaves about them. “Her skin was all glistening like, shimmery like, uh, you know,” he waved his hands about, unable to find the exact word he was searching for. “Anyway, it looked like brand new skin, like a baby or something, but all fitted out for a lass.”

“How old?” Zadok asked, almost afraid of the answer he might receive.

“You old perv!” Gehrmann hissed with a mix of irritation and good humor. “She looked to be at least in her late twenties, many older. She was, uh, well developed.”

Both his companions rolled their eyes and sat back in their chairs. “Who’s the lecher now?” asked Zadok with a grin. He was answered with a cough and malformed smoke ring blown into his face.

“If you two can’t be serious about this,” began Gehrmann, looking as if he might just stand up and leave.

“Oh sit, you ninnyhammer,” chided Caranó, “we’re just having a bit of fun. Finish your story, I’m interested.”

“’Tain’t no story, it really happened,” insisted Gehrmann before continued his tale. “It was the way the shadows moved around her, the nets and sails and such, they didn’t so much as darken her as totally obscure her. She weren’t no mermaid, had legs and all that business. Eld cut emptied the net and got her out of there. She was all tangled in it when she fell to the deck. When it was clear the two other fishermen didn’t see her, distracted by something or just plain blind, we took her to his cabin. She was tall, lads, taller than any woman I’ve ever clapped eyes on. Tall as the king maybe, or taller.”

“So where is she now?” asked Zadok, lighting his own pipe whilst totally engrossed in his friend’s story.

“When we landed back at the harbor, we had to make up some nonsense story as to why our net was all slashed to bits.”

“And that’s where the giant crab and the kraken stories came from. All to cover for the selkie?” Zadok asked.

Gehrmann nodded. “Aye. Neither of us knew what to do with the girl so we made something up to protect her.”

“Why would you protect her?” broke in Caranó, “you only just caught her.”

“Because,” Gehrmann leaned in again, “because I swear I’ve seen that woman before. Those eyes, that face, the skin, I swear I saw her sixty years ago when I was a trawlerman at Pelargir, you remember when I was helping my old uncle? Well, that’s when I saw her the first time, and she looked the same all those years ago as she did yesterday morning.”

“Sixty years?” asked Caranó incredulously. “Only and elf could do something like that.”

Gehrmann puffed aggressively on his pipe, enough to cause him a coughing fit. “Don’t you bloody think I know that? I know selkies and elves ain’t the same thing. I’m not saying I can explain nor understand it. I’m just tellin’ ye what I know. That that woman is a selkie sure as a squid squirts ink. She’s the same one I met sixty years ago and she ain’t lookin’ different now. And she ain’t no pointy-eared elven how-do-you-do.”

A far away look came into Gehrmann’s eyes. They were looking back into the past, Zadok knew. He’d seen that look on his friends’ faces enough just as they’d seen it in his. It was a part of being old. His eyes looked sad and watery, as if he were on the verge of a tragic lament. Zadok frowned and looked at Caranó. They exchanged looks of worry and concern. There was wistful and nostalgic, then there was their friend’s downfallen countenance.

“Gehrmann?” Zadok ventured after a moment, the silence hanging over them a little too closely. “What is it old friend?”

“Just—” started Gehrmann, coming out of his reverie, “Just remembering. That’s all.”

“Remembering the rest of your story?” Caranó asked, his tone now slightly less acerbic.

Gehrmann looked sad for a moment, the cobwebs of old memory not quite letting him be just yet. “Get me some fried eggs, fatty bacon, and fish head stew. Then I might tell you where we took her.”

“Fried eggs and—” Caranó looked utterly indignant. Zadok chuckled and shook his head.

“How is it you’re nearly a hundred years old and still eat like your six? Shouldn’t that have killed you by now? Fried eggs? Fatty Bacon? What sort of sorcery are you working?”

All three of them laughed. Caranó lit his pipe and soon their little corner was awash in the resinous, waxy scent of tobacco. Both Caranó and Zadok decided to try this particular repast. If it helped Gehrmann move with vigor into his fifth score of years then there must be something to it, else the gods were just cruel.

“Before I tell you where we took her,” Gehrmann said after a few bites, a bit of stew liquid glistening in his wild salt and pepper beard, “I should preface with telling you exactly how I know her.


I was thirty-seven, or was it thirty-eight? Either way, I sailed down the Anduin to see my uncle. Everyone in the guild used to call him Mad Wilhelm. He was as crazy as a lune but as a sly as a fox. He fished in places everyone would say is too dangerous and somehow come away with the biggest catches of the season. Most people were convinced that he was in league with some sort of sea devil or something. He was an odd old fellow, and his stories were wilder than any story you’ll hear in the Harlond, tales that’ll put hair on a boy’s chest for sure. Claimed he once witnessed a battle between a kraken and a sperm whale.

Ah, but that’s not what this bit’s about. I went to see him because he was having trouble, legal trouble. Some fool noble in Pelargir decided it would be profitable to start cordoning off parts of the river and say it’s only for the nobles to fish in, the way some landlocked nobles try to say they own the forest. Naturally, my uncle objected to such a stupid notion, started handing out all sorts of agitprop condemning the nobles for trying to stifle the common folks’ way of life to enrich themselves. He told them all to hell with their rules and fished each day in the protected waters of one or another of the nobles that bought into the system. They had him arrested quicker than you can say “disturber of the peace” and locked him in the stocks for a day. That had no effect on that taciturn bastard though, he started making speeches whiles he was in the stocks! People came from all over the city. The guard thought there was gonna be riot on his behalf.

The council repealed the act right quick they did, but the nobles still had it out for my uncle. He had it out for them too. Defiance tasted sweeter than port to my uncle and he started making more speeches on the water about freedom and unjust taxes, mixed with some right salty philippics about the council members that had pushed through the acts in the first place. Well, that got two of his boats sunk to the bottom of the river and his home set alight.

I came down to help him rebuild.

Ah, that summer. The fish were biting like mad, and the air smelled as sweet as roses. Those were the days we chase after, the perfect blends of satisfactory work and ease. I would try my hand at poetry but by the looks ye two are already giving me I think I’ll save that for some of the seamstresses on my way home. It was hot, I remember that too. Ain’t had a summer that hot since. The whole world seemed to shimmer with heat haze. I loved that heat though, made swimming all the more luxurious. Oh lads, let me tell you, swimming in the Anduin at the height of summer with dragonflies buzzing about and the smell of pumpkins and summer squash drifting in from the fields, ah, there is nothing like in all the world. That summer was, was the best summer of my life.

That’s the summer I really fell in love with fishing. I knew I had been meant for fishing from the day I was born, my entirely family line back to the founding were fishermans so there weren’t much question about what I’d be doing with my life, but I never really loved it. Sure I was halfway decent at it, but I had no passion. There was no vibrancy in the waters for me. But that summer, that summer I truly heard the call of Ossë. Don’t look at me like I’m daft. He used to appear to all sorts of sailors and fisherfolk, used to give blessings to folks what made offerings to him and his lady wife. My uncle told me he heard him to sometimes, a whisper on the wind, or the smell of seaweed and cold water in the midst of the heat. I swear, that first week I was there I smelled nothing but sea salt, even though we was miles from the coast. I started swimming and diving to cool off in the heat of the midday. Under the water I heard such music, such music as no mortal could conceive nor no elf create. You ever heard the sounds of coral trumpets? I promise you if you did, you’d never forget it to the day you died. I can still hear them clear as that day I got swept out by an undertow.

I was showing off for the lasses, I was a catch in those days, and wasn’t paying close enough attention to the currents. I dove off the prow of the ship and doze too deep. The current grabbed me and yanked me forward before I had a chance to react. I couldn’t make out which way was up or down; everything was all black and roaring. Rivers are not quiet places as ye both well know. It ain’t the silent, calm beast landers are so used to thinking it is, specially not the Anduin. She’s a jealous lady, the Anduin, must’a not liked me showing off for all the girls on the beach.

I was finally spat out, covered in scrapes and bruises and river muck of an unimaginable stench, onto some random stretch of beach maybe a half mile from where I’d been gulped under. I was only under water for what felt like a minute but to be taken out so far, so quickly. I shudder to think. She must have been very displeased with me that day.

She threw me onto a rocky beach near a cliff hanging, limestone I think it was. There was a cave too, half submerged as the tides rolled in. That’s when I saws her come out. Most beautiful woman I ever set eyes on.

At first I was completely stunned, too flabbergasted to speak or make so much as a squeak. I weren’t afraid, not exactly. You remember when you first saw an elf? Like for the first time and all. Remember how otherworldly they looked? Fae and wild and unearthly beauty and such? It was something like that. Only this lass was no elf. I can’t explain why I knew that, but I did. She was something else. Like, a bit of man and a bit of elf and a bit of the ocean.

I could smell the sea as clear day, the salt air and seaweed and humid air.

We looked at each other for what felt like an hour. I looked at her and she looked at me. Neither of us said nothing as the waves and wind made a great ruckus. I wonder if she was too stunned by my sudden appearance to say anything. I never did get a chance to ask her.

She was the first to break the spell. She just up and turned away like she was bored of looking at me. She turned back and went into her cave and the world suddenly felt less full. I was left on the shore of the Anduin, soaked to the bone and disoriented. If you had told me the sky and the sea were the same thing I would have believed you and called you a genius.

I didn’t follow her, not right away. I think I might have been too shocked to see her, as you will probably tell.

I also thought it would be improper for a man of my years and such to respectability to follow a strange lass on the beach into a sea cave.

I did eventually though. I was pressed by this overwhelming urge to talk to her, to hear her voice. I wasn’t sure what I thought she was, but for some reason I needed to hear her voice. I never had an obsession that was that strong that appeared all of the sudden like. That, and I had no desire to be eaten by the river crabs that were starting to swarm up the beach.

So, I barreled into the cave.

“Do all men violate the rights of hospitality so brazenly?”

I remember that like I just heard it this morning. Her voice was musical, like the sound of a waterfall But she was sharp with hidden edges. I could dash myself to pieces on that edge. She was a silver bell that rang with the mournful cry of the lost waves of sunken kingdoms.

“I… I’m sorry. I… well, you see, I, was swimming and then, I— um, I was pulled under I think. Where, where am I?”

“You are in my home,” she said, “where the rights of hospitality are held sacred.”

So I blubbered about a bit, having no excuse or justification for apparently barging into this woman’s home.

“I am sorry, my lady. I had no intention to, to break into your home. I had no idea, honestly.” I stumbled backward and out into the open air again. I hadn’t realized it when I was there before, but that cavern was preternaturally warm and dry. It was a cave by the river, it should have been all cold and damp and humid.

I shivered at the entrance to the cave. I thought she might invite me and I could return to that warmth and hopefully dry my bones. She did not.

I thought I must have really screwed something up, or maybe I was imagining this whole affair. Maybe I hit my head on something and this was all some sort of dream. I weren’t on this beach and there weren’t no mermaid or some such creature telling me to stay out of her cave.

To tell you lads the truth, the more I waited out there, waiting for her to appear, the stupider I felt. What the heck was I doing? I was going to freeze or catch ill waiting out there while she was back in that cave as comfortable as a clam.

I felt humiliated and what’s that word they use nowadays, emasculated? Emasculated, yeah, that’s the word. I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, after all I hadn’t known this random cave was this woman’s home! And what kind of woman just lives in a cave? She wasn’t a dwarf, no beard, and she weren’t a orc, far, far too pretty.

I decided to go inside again But my feet wouldn’t cooperate. They just sat there and didn’t move. I couldn’t believe it. Like they was stuck in mud and refused to do anything but sink. Either of you ever have something like that? Where your own body won’t listen to a thing you say?

“Hello?” I called, rather sad and hopeless. “My Lady, are, are you there? May I come in? Please? I’m soaked and not feeling well. I think I might have injured myself. My head, my head hurts something fierce.”

She appeared out of the shadows, materialized all elven like. She looked at me blankly, like a creature trying to figure out what was in front of them. She tilted her head and extended a hand out to me. She caressed my cheek and wiped some of the sand from my face.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Gehrmann,” I said.

“Gehrmann,” she repeated. I tell you this, there’s nothing quite like a beautiful woman saying your name. “Why are you here, Gehrmann? What do you want?”

“I’m not here on purpose,” I tried to tell her. “I don’t even know where I am. I was swimming upstream and must have, must have been pulled out in the undertow. I think I might have hit my head or something, blacked out.”

“So,” she said with an intent in her eye, “you are not a hunter?”

“Well, I’m, I’m a fisherman,” I said, quite confused.

“You are a fish man? No. No you do not have the smell.”

I laughed a bit there. “No, no my Lady. I am a man that fishes. I catch fish.”

“Of course you do, what else would you be?”

I had no words. We stayed like that for a while, her touching my cheek and staring at me, me standing there like a mesmerized fish in front of a shark.

“I am Ringelenwen.”

“It is nice to meet you, Ringelenwen. May I come in and warm myself?”

She smiled, a weird sort of smile, like someone who was not used to making expressions with her face.

“Come in, Gehrmann the Fisher Man.”

So I went back inside. It was just as warm and dry as it had been before I came in the first time, only now I was much more appreciative of the warmth. Though by now I was also twice as curious. As you lads both know that cave should have been dank, dark, and as wet as a fish’s bunghole. But I swear to you on my honor that that cave was better than any house I’d ever been inside. It weren’t drafty, damp, sticky, nor smelly. I knew I was in the presence of something, but that was when I knew it was truly magical, truly otherworldly.

The cave itself seemed to spiral downward into the rock, but no matter how far down we went, the sound of the water never lessened. It was an ever-present reminder of where we were. It was a soothing sound, a bit wilder than the sounds of the water lapping against the boat but not quite the same crazed sound of waves bashing themselves against the shore for years and years.

The innermost chamber of her cavern was lit with fireflies. Either of you ever seen a room full of fireflies all flittering about? I tell you, it was something.

Yeah, I know, there was a whole lot of that sort of thing going on in this story. That’s what I’m trying to get at. This experience was magical, but not in that waifish girl finding fae in the woods kind of magical, no I didn’t worry about meeting a faerie prince and becoming his subject for all eternity. I mean to say that this was the closest I’d ever come, and ever have come, to something truly made of magic. I won’t be seeing no elves in my time I know that, and I won’t be meeting Ossë down at the docks. Ringelenwen, she was magic and no mistake. Everything she touched practically glowed and shimmered.

She bade me take off my wet clothes and dry myself. I did and when I sat down, she was gone. Very funny, no I didn’t scare her off you needlefish.

I spent a good few hours in the inner sanctum of the cave. I didn’t dawn on me until later that I could have explored the place. One of the greatest regrets of my life is not seeing all there was to see down there. I was tired though, and sore, and feeling quite concussed. The fireflies were quite entertaining.

The innermost part of the cave was filled with paintings. Cave paintings. Ringelenwen used a variety of pigments, red, white, yellow, green, purple, orange. I shouldn’t call it cave paintings because that makes her work sound primitive. While it weren’t as grandiose and splendiferous as the elves might make their work, it was far from primitive. Better than anyone I’ve seen in any Marketplace stall for the past half century. The entire wall was covered in dynamic movements and flowing lines. I can’t tell you want she used for pigments, she kept that very secret, but she told me the technique she used, all the paint thick on the ‘canvas’ is called impasto. Don’t look at me like that, it’s what she called it. I’m not an art student. Fah!

There were a dozen different paintings within the great big one, each of them sort bled into one another form all angles. There was a scene depicting a shark hunt that tapered into a pastoral kind of scene, or what might pass for pastoral under the sea. Images of orcas and whales that looked as though they might be alive somewhere deep in that paint.

I saw something draped across a chest though and that broke the spell of the painting. This is, lads, how I knew she was a selkie and not some elf or mermaid or whatever else water spirit they have running abouts. I saw her sealskin coat. It was grey as a stormy sky and sleek as a trout. I reached out to touch it.

But I stopped myself just short. I knew the stories about selkies. Knew that stealing their sealskin was how some people controlled them but how a terrible and vengeance was always wrought on those that did. Stealing a selkie’s sealskin was tantamount to murder in their culture. As tempting as it was just to feel that coat, I was in no way going to risk whatever punishments might come my way. I went back and sat down on a couch she’d made of used nets and rocks, but I swear I could hear that sealskin calling to me. Temptation, lads, ain’t no bloody joke.

She came back later with a basket laden with fish. Fish that I’d never seen swimming the Anduin.

She could tell though. Or p’rhaps she meant to bring it up anyways. She told me she were a selkie and that she had been enjoying her time as a human for the past two months afore I showed up.

“I and my kinsfolk live far off the coast in the midst of what you so pedestrianly call the Bay of Balfalas. We have islands there that no elf or man has ever charted. No, you never will either, my telling you of them isn’t putting them at risk. I would not be so foolish as all that. I find you acceptable, Gehrmann the Fisher Man, but I am not about to spill the secrets of my people to you. I don’t find you that acceptable.”

I was, of course, taken a little aback. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to find this island of the of the selkies. Don’t look at me like that, it hadn’t in the least. It occurred to me after she said it, but not before. Fah!

“I would not betray the islands of your people,” I said, trying to reassure her, “nor will I ask where they are. I will ask, though, what is the island like?”

I bombarded her with a hundred questions, eager as a lad in school to learn all I could. Selkies. Selkies! Who would have ever thought that this whippersnapper would have ever gotten a chance to talk to a selkie?

She was rather evasive with most of my questions, eluding and avoiding most of them with the kind of ease you only see in a nobleman called to account for his actions, but there were some that she answered and went into great detail on.

She took me to one of the other tunnels that spiraled off from the main thoroughfare into a chamber almost as big as the one with the cave paintings. It too was all lit up with fireflies and mirrors and shiny bits. But that was not what made this room so impressive.

In that room she had the skeleton of a leviathan.

“You’re cracked if you think we’re gonna believe that you saw a leviathan,” Caranó harrumphed and crossed his arms defiantly.

Gehrmann just looked at him, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t you look at me like that you crazy old coot,” Caranó shot, uncrossing then crossing his arms back in what might have been a gesture of defiance but came off more like he had no clue what he was doing.

Gehrmann’s grin now included his teeth. Caranó harrumphed again.

“You can believe enough in selkies to listen to a story about one, but the bones of a leviathan are too much to bear?” the older man asked, leaning onto his elbows. “Sea elves that can change from person to seal are believable and real but the bones of an ancient creature we know to have existed or still exists is a bridge too far? Caranó, after all the things I know you’ve seen when you’re out fishing the Bay of Belfalas, are you really just going to sit there and tell me that I’m lying because I mentioned a leviathan?”

“Well,” Caranó started, chewing furiously on the stem of his churchwarden pipe, “well I ain’t never seen a leviathan is all.”

“But you’ve seen a selkie?” asked Zadok having stayed out of the exchange until now. “I’d love to hear your tale when Gehrmann is done telling his.”

“You hush up young man or I’ll keelhaul your waifish butt.”

Zadok laughed and took a bit of his eggs, spilling the yoke out over the plate and sopping it up with a crust of rye bread. “When was the last time you tried to keelhaul anyone? During Ecthelion II’s reign?”

Caranó grumble but broke into a good-natured grin. “I could start today if you’d like.”

“Can I finish my story now?” Gehrmann looked impatiently at his two friends.

“Fah, fine, fine,” Caranó said, blowing out a thick smoke ring that drifted to the ceiling. “Tell us about this leviathan your lady love had in her house.”


Lady love? Lady love! Ha, anyone should have been so lucky for that. A lass like Ringelenwen ain’t gonna settle down with the likes of me. Or you or you for that matter. She weren’t no common selkie girl, was she. No sir. But that’s something I’ll get to here in a little bit.

The leviathan skeleton. Oh lads. I’ve never seen a living leviathan, no Gondorian or Númenórean ever has most like, but to see the bones of a creature like that, of something so ancient and powerful. I felt like a fly on the back of a mumak. The size of the thing! Oh, even now as I think about I have to look up at the sky and make sure the roof the heavens isn’t about to be scraped off.

The jaws were taller enough that it could have swallowed up a mumak, a whole ship if it wanted. There were rows and rows and rows of teeth all the size of daggers and probably still just as sharp. I know a lad that swam to the bottom o’ Long Lake and saw the bones of Smaug a few years back and he said they was massive, even though his skull was home to schools of bass and pike and trout. Well, this leviathan’s skull was at least as big. Dunno how old the creature might been or if they grow like dragons all their lives but either way you shake it, there was no denying that this beast had been enormous. Imagine sailing the open waters of the Sundering Seas knowing that creatures like that swam beneath you. Make great whites look like minnows.

I’m not sure why she showed it to me. Maybe it was to impress me, though I didn’t need to be impressed by a selkie after finding out she was a selkie. Maybe it was to intimidate me. If that was the case, I was sure intimidated. She told me she knew the man that had killed the beast. Imagine, if you can, if you’re in awe of a woman’s ethereality and otherworldly beauty and you hear her tell you that she knows a man that killed a leviathan. A bucket of ice water couldn’t have shocked me more.

I touched those bones. I’m not sure what I was expecting to feel, but when I did the bones were cool, cold really, like they’d been submerged in ice. There were grooves along the bones too, long sinewy things that Ringelenwen told me were the runes of her people. They looked like runes the more I looked at them, runes that were closer akin to seaweed than stone. I asked her what the runes were supposed to mean and why she had them inscribed on the bones.

“Many years ago, in the age when men and elves were closer akin than they are now, Selkie and Teleri were friendly with one another, trading and sharing stories of adventures and dangers. They taught us the art of letter writing but carving words on stone or parchment was not so suited to the ways in which we selkie lived. We adapted, as we have always done. We taught the Teleri the art of scrimshaw, carving and engraving on bones and ivory. We combined our arts and developed a unique type of script that would work for us. Now we have two ways of leaving behind our stories and our legacies. There are bones at the bottom of the ocean that tell the tale of great hunts and magnificent discoveries. There are caverns filled with the primordial waters that house black pearls and stories of he that found them. Our stories are found in seaweed beds and along the wooden bulks of sunken ships. We can write tales in the fog and warn those who come after.”

She took me back to the inner chamber and bade me sit on the net couches and brought out a chest full of ivory from whales, walruses, shark’s teeth and more. All of them were carven with delicate images and flowing, drifting lines of text. Each piece was a story, an individual tale.

The funny thing about the selkie is that once they write down their tales, once they transcribe them in pictures and words the stories are then expected to live their own lives and have their own experiences. A story of a whale hunt at the bottom of the ocean? It’s for the fish to read and learn and enjoy. No elf or man or selkie may ever read it or know it exists, but that is not the point of stories. The point is for them to exists and become part of the world, to become part of the fabric that makes the world what it is. It was fascinating stuff, most of it was all over my poor head but I was transfixed by it all.

“Was that leviathan skeleton a gift?” I asked.

“It was,” she answered.

“A wedding gift?” I admit to being impertinent.

She laughed, gave me the strangest look of amusement, and shook her head. “No. Not a wedding gift.”

“Well then,” I asked, “will you tell me how it came to be?”

I’m not sure how long I lived on my father’s island before I began to yearn for the outside world. Looking back at it now it could have been naught but a few years or two centuries. Time, you see, has little meaning to selkie. We are not immortal, not deathless like our elven allies, but neither do we obsess over the passing of time as mortals do. We are subject to age and illness but are not fettered by them.

It was especially hard to tell the passing of time and the waning of seasons on islands shrouded in fog and mist. Fog pushes time back, keeps it at bay. The world is preserved in fog through its ethereality. It cannot last of course, but all the things it touches are frozen in a moment of reality that thaws but slowly.

My father, Nuada, was a king, well a type of king. He was the eldest on our little archipelago and thus according the wisest and most able to lead. King is a foreign word, coming down to us from the elves and their need to neatly categorize things. He was simply the first among equals. He was a great man; a mighty swimmer, and a fierce hunter. His hair was long and wild, colored zaffre and kelp; his eyes glittered like starlight caught in sapphires, his laughter was a rich baritone that could shake the stones we made our castles. He was a sculpturer and painter, the best of our people. They say Lord Círdan in his great northern havens has many graven of seals, dolphins, and whales in his garden that were carved by my father.

I am but one of many daughters he had with many mistresses. Selkie are loyal to one another but free as well. The elven custom of one mate for an entire lifetime is alien to us, a notion that seems at odds with the ever-changing world and forces within it. I was not the eldest, the pretties, the most skilled, or the best singer. On the islands I was one daughter among a dozen or more. It was quite easy for me to slip into the crowd and fade into obscurity.

I loved my father, dearly, yet I was ever wont to love him from afar. My mother was a shy selkie, spending far more time as a seal beneath the waves than on two legs above. She made little effort to help me know my father and as such I was often left to my own devices.

My childhood was not a sad or lonely one. I was quite happy diving off the cliffs and swimming as a seal amongst the flittering shadows. I explored underwater caverns and carved out little tales of mischief in bas relief that no one will ever find. I learned to swim before I could walk and spent more time under the water than above it. I did not see the point, as my mother, in walking about on two legs.

There were dangers, of course. Sharks and orcas were ever present and a selkie must remain vigilant of the glooming shadows that drift along the bottom of the seas. I had a friend once, his name was Darragh, he had cerulean hair and curled when it got too long. We would swim in the deepest lagoons and explore the sandy bottoms together. We explored the coral and drifted with the stingray. We even watched the great hammerhead shark migrations when they came, thousands and thousands of sharks swimming overhead, I suppose you might liken it to a great convocation of eagles flying overhead. One day, we watched the migrations, so focused on the hammerheads above us that we did not notice the hulking shadow moving below us. It was the wrong time of year for great whites, we had nothing to worry about. Except that we should have. The beast moved so fast and so silently that neither of us knew what was happening until it was too late. All I remember feeling was a rush of water, a blast from underneath me that pushed me aside as if I were naught but floating seaweed, inconsequential and unworthy of attention. Darragh, though, was caught in the great jaws of the shark, stunned by the force of the blow and ripped to shreds by those rows of jagged teeth. I swam as fast as I could, trying to catch up and free my friend but it was too late, and the shark was too quick. Despite being of such a bulk as to blot out the sun above me, it was too fast. I screamed and cried but the waters did not care and would not carry my sound.

I could not go into the water for a very long time after that. I abandoned my seal form and would have thrown away my sealskin coat if I’d been allowed. I wanted nothing to do with being a selkie or swimming or anything to do with the waters that had stolen my friend away. I railed against the ocean. I beat the waters until my fists were bloody from smashing against the shells of the beach. I cried and cried but never saw my Darragh again.

My mother pleaded with my father then, to break me out of my stupor and to help me back into the water again. It was the first time he and I interacted without a dozen or more courtiers and hangers-on. He and I would watch the sun rise and set from atop the highest cliffs. We watched the mists swirl and dance with every ephemeral gust of wind. For days we said nothing to one another, the silence which had engulfed me before now pushed me closer to this mythical figure that was my father.

We eventually did speak, for no selkie can go without speaking to another for too long. It is our pinniped nature to communicate. He showed me how to find the pigments he used to make his paints and color his statues. He taught me how to mix them to encompass all the colors of my imagination. He taught me how to carve better stories. He taught me how to hunt. He taught me how to bark like a proper seal.

We made spears of whale bone and went in search for the shark that took my companion from me. He left behind his court of sycophants and admirers, his studio or unfinished paintings, his great castle of stone and fog, and descended into the depths with me. I had never swum with two legs before. It was a sensation that I could not have described.

I channeled my rage into the hunt. I did not know the word revenge or retribution; all I knew was I wanted that shark to pay for having taken and killed my friend. All other sharks were out of my thoughts. It was that particular one, one with ashen grey skin, scars across his gills, and a chunk torn from his dorsal, that occupied my every thought. We hunted for so long that I nearly gave up all hope of finding it again.

But one day, whilst watching the seas from our vantage point on the cliffs, we found him.

I refused to wait. My father counselled patience but I could not hear his words, or perhaps I would not hear his words. I leapt from the cliffs, heedless of any danger that would await me below. I don’t suppose I cared about any dangers anymore. I was so consumed with the concept of revenge that any other considerations I might have made were secondary. I believed myself to be honoring the memory of Darragh, that I was doing something good in his name. Years later now, I can attest that while I might have believed that it was not the truth. That shark had made me feel the full weight of my mortality, of my frailty and fragility and I hated it for that. In order to regain my sense of invulnerable strength, I had to kill this shark. I had to be the one to deliver the killing blow. If my father were to kill it, or worse, if some stranger, a fisherman who did not know who or what that shark was, the feelings of weakness would continue to haunt me for the rest of my life. I hope Darragh can forgive me. I usurped his tragedy.

I flew down the cliff, aiming myself like the spear that never left my side. Worlds and time passed me by until everything was a blur of green and blue and white. I hit the water, and all slowed to a crawl. The world was wreathed in azure shadows, and everything went deathly silent. No doubt my enemy had heard the splash I made, I could not see him from my vantage point, so I swam deeper, enough so that I was crawling along the sandy bottom. My eyes were trained upward, searching for any sign of shadow. I was so intent on my vigil that I did not even notice my father swim up beside me. I would have stabbed him had he not knocked my spear aside at the last moment. I could tell he was cross with me, his sapphire eyes glittered with anger and his jawline was sharp as obsidian. He did not bade me leave though. I think he knew I would disobey him out of hand.

So, we waited together, my father and I. We found a bed of kelp that helped hide us on our vigil. I cannot say how long we waited. Time means less below the surface than above it, sometimes it moves faster, sometimes slower. Finally though, the great shadow came into view, hunting us as we were hunting it.

It was the biggest shark I had yet seen in my life, twenty-three feet long at least, thick as a slab of limestone and twice as heavy. It floated, drifted lazily across our vision. It could sense us about, I’m sure, but could not quite pinpoint where we were.

I could feel my heart racing, I could feel the fear stirring in me. My hands began to grow numb, and my head began to swim; my thoughts muddled. I would surely have been killed if not for my father. He reached out and grabbed my arm, breaking the spell of the shark. I looked at him and he placed a hand over his heart. I did the same and slowed the beating of my heart. Our prey hunted by that sound, I knew, and I would not make this hunt easy for him. I closed my eyes and let the rage and fear subside. It was not an easy task for, as you recall, I was consumed with rage against this beast. It was faster, stronger, and tougher than we were, but we were smarter. We knew these waters as intimately as we knew ourselves. This shark was an interloper, a stranger, it did not know the secret tunnels that crisscrossed the ocean’s floor, lava tubes that had long since cooled and hardened. There was an opening into the tunnels not a pace from where we hid, an opening that the shark would not be able to fit into. I went first and my father was close behind. We stalked our prey from those semi lucent halls, watching through tiny windows.

Finally, coming to another opening just below the shark, we charged upward. I exploded with all the strength and anger I could muster. I pierced the belly of the shark who turned and tried to bite me. Those jaws could have torn my head off my shoulders with little effort. I had to let go of my spear least I be killed. I would have likely died then, weaponless, had it not been for my father coming up behind me at that instant. The shark had twisted itself around and charged me, but my father pushed me aside and thrust his spear into open maw of the sea beast. The world was then so full of red that I could not make sense of up or down. The shark’s blood clung to me, it swirled around with hot rage and warmed me, gave me new life. I swam beneath the shark, now contending with my father, and took hold of my spear once again, I yanked it out of the creature’s belly as savagely as I could, hoping to cause as much pain to the monster as I could. I then swam back to the bottom, into the mouth of the tunnel.

I learned something from the way sharks hunt. They come up from the shadowy depths and use the force of their momentum and tremendous bulk to kill their prey. I did the same. I swam back up as fast as I could and with as much force as I could muster. Just as I am now, I was not a small slight girl with dainty muscles and narrow hips. I did not outweigh the shark, but I had anger on my side. I pierced the shark’s abdomen again. I could feel my spear pierce flesh and organ. The shark was so taken off guard by the attack that I was able to yank my spear out and attack again before it turned round. My father took advantage, narrowly missing a bite from the creature that might have taken a leg, and stabbed the beast through the eye, blinding it then through the gills. It lashed back and forth, not knowing which threat to attack first. It coiled and lashed out like a dying dragon. We did not stop our assault. It began to sink, the world so full of red that the sun was blotted out.

My father knew what I needed, knew that I need to be the one to strike the killing blow. He gave me his spear to do it, one much more ornate and heavier than mine own. I pinned the shark down against the sandy bottom of the inlet with my spear through the gaping wound in its side and with my father’s spear I stabbed down through the brain.

We were quiet for some time, each of us gazing upon the havoc we wrought. I felt good; as the shark died though, I grew tired. The strength that anger had lent me was now suddenly gone and I was left with nothing to sustain me. My father pulled me to the shore, and I lay on the beach and wept. I wept for so long that sun began to set. I was deep in the grief I had pushed back that I did not notice my father pulling the corpse of the shark on shore. I did not notice the throngs of people that came ‘round to stare and awe at it. I did not hear his words of praise, his proclamation that I had killed the shark. I did not see him present the heart of the creature to Darragh’s mother. I wept and wept and wept until I had no more tears with which to water the ocean floors.

My father carried me home and laid me to rest. He told me there would be a feast in my honor but that I did not have to attend. Those who would attend would understand why I might chose to avoid such displays of frivolity and joviality. Mourning, he told me, doesn’t happen right away or all at once. I needed to process what I was going to process, and it would only happen if I allowed it.

I did not go to the feast, though I heard it was quite a raucous affair with many a good flyting and flowing coconut wine. I was pronounced a hero, though even now I do not feel like one. I got my revenge on a creature that, looking back, was no more evil or sinister than anything that swam in the ocean. It had killed Darragh but sperm whales, kraken, and all manner of fish fight and kill each other without the elven quality of ‘evil’ being bestowed upon them. I still hated the shark, but I knew, as I wept for my friend, that it was not evil.

A week later I emerged from my rooms, a weary and bedraggled looking creature, I’m sure. I had not eaten and had only slept intermittently, plagued by dreams which I will not here recount.

I returned to the waters of the living right on time, it would seem. My mother was excited about a visitor. My mother is never excited about visitors, especially not ones that were not selkie. Everyone in the archipelago was all a twitter about the man that was to be arriving. A man, an elf, they called Finnbarr the Galedeep.

Finnbarr, more than other elves, has a history with my people. Despite his age and appearance, he often acts more like a selkie than a selkie. There are stories of his freediving exploits, of his finding of the pearls that adorn his armor, of his friendship with Ossë, his rescue of the bears of Westernesse before its fall. He may not be the king of an archipelago, but he is the captain of a ship large enough to be considered a small island. Before the feast, I had never met him, my father had though, on several occasions. I would not go so far as to call them friends for my father, as kind and generous as he was with those around him was not a man prone to friendships, but there was a connection between them, a mutual respect and honor.

Elves though, even ones so thalassic as Finnbarr the Galedeep, are strange folk. They appear and disappear in cycles known only to them. The tides nor the phases of the moon can predict when they might show or when they might fade. Finnbarr and his great ship, The Pearl Queen, could appear like a storm on the horizon. He was a wild man, beholden to none but the sea. Everyone, I think, sees him as something other than an elf, be it a dwarf, a selkie, or even an extension of Ossë himself. Very few people, in my opinion, see him as an elf. With cockle shells woven into his hair and braids of kelp in his beard, there is nothing of the aloofness of the Eldar in his face. Elven eyes reflect starlight, Finnbarr’s eyes reflect the glow of the sea.

His coming was like the onset of a holiday. The islands were in such a bustle that one might think we were abandoning our home. Old tapestries were cleaned, patches resewn, and frayed ends fixed. The floors were swept, and carpets laid out. My father blew the great conch shell in greeting.

All the elves came ashore, apparently in desperate need of something called shore leave. They’d been sailing for eight months, they told my father, and in most of that time they had not set foot on dry land. How that could be I did not understand, but again, the ways and waves of elves are strange.

Before festivities and feasts could occur though, my father demanded the reswearing of an oath. It was custom, of course, but as I had never seen this particular rite done before I believe I was the reason for the pomp and circumstance. I stood with my father on the shore to greet them, in a dress of shifting blue and green with coral rings about my fingers. My hair was all done up and made to match my father’s, who wore a crown of shark’s teeth.

“I do so swear,” said Finnbarr, completing his part of the ritual, “before the waves, before the tide pools, and before the great fathomless depths, that I Finnbarr Galedeep, shall never, for all of my days and nights, reveal or hint, by action or inaction, the home of the selkie. Neither on pain of death or drowning shall I reveal the islands where they swim and make merry. For as long as the moon reflects upon the night waters, for as long as the kraken rules the deeps, for as long as the seagull screams its cacophonous song, I swear.”

I’m sure there was extra flourish given to the oath for my benefit. Flowery language is not so common with my people, nor are our oaths both so gay and ominous.

My father produced a salt encrusted dagger, one I’d only seen on the most solemn of solemn occasions. They each took a turn cutting their palms and squeezing their blood into the ocean. There was tension in the air, a tension I did not understand. As soon as the blood was washed away in the sea though, all was well again. Conch shells and reed flutes filled air with music and a procession was made from the shores to my father’s hall deep within the rock. Seals came from all around the island and barked their approval. Finnbarr seemed as though he understood them and barked back as joyfully and raucous as they.

He sat next to me at the feast, and I counted myself lucky. He did not, though, attempt to regale me with dozens of stories of his own exploits. Rather, he talked about his crew and their adventures, only making minor indications that he was even there. He talked about the animals they saw and saved. And, most of all, he asked me about my own adventures. I don’t know how he knew, but he knew about the shark and Darragh and all the rest. He consoled me, told that he understood the pain, understood the anger, and how those two things make us do contradictory actions. Sea life was brutal and unforgiving in ways that land dwellers will never understand. A dozen times, people called for him to tell the stories of his duel with the kraken or his ongoing war against the whalers of Lindon, but each time he begged off and changed the topic, expertly getting one of his crew or a selkie to tell their own stories. I did not expect a man with such a wild reputation to be so reticent to expound upon his own glory. Others, myself included it would seem, are incapable of not going into great detail about him, but he himself shies away from the limelight. Finnbarr the Galedeep cannot be an elf, nor a selkie, nor a dwarf, or a man or anything else under the sun. He can only be described as Finnbarr.

When the feast was over and we were all stuffed with food and stories, he begged off back to his ship, saying he could not impose himself or his crew upon so welcoming a host, but that he would be back tomorrow. I was chosen to escort him back, me and a few of my sisters in our seal forms. The rest of his crew went back to their floating city in rowboats but not he, who was more fish than elf, swam into the sea. Elated at the chance to swim, I dove in after him. He swam to the deepest part of the bay and wandered along the sand, showing silver in the moonlight.

An unconcerned shrug succeeded the Lieutenant’s remark, that Aderic would eat clearly when Aderic was good and ready to eat. And not a moment before. Narradir supped from his second pint and smacked his lips in a finale of satisfaction. Let the man’s meal go cold then, if he was so concerned with not eating with a mouthful. Or whatever reason the Guard might else come up with. The larger man had long since foregone with such courtesies. It was as much to do with eating alone, as it was eating in the mayhem of a crowded kitchen. Speed was quite the name of the game. For food was never so good the second time around.

“I should regret to be the one as informs you, Lieutenant,” the forester crushed a crumb under his ale, and continued. “That you ought make it your business to know just who my daughter is. Since if any wrong is done to her, and it comes out that you could have prevented it, it won’t be any ‘details’ that I’ll be giving you,” he rose up where he sat, and stood instead, looming across the table. “So you’d best get on with your investigating …”


“What are you investigating ?” Sorrel had managed to make it from the entrance to the table, without being noticed by the burly great man that she now questioned. “I stabled the horse,” she mentioned, in a side word to Aderic, as Narradir slowly lowered himself back into his seat. “Do we often have to deal with abandoned horses ?” she asked, in a weary tone which spoke of her hope – not – to have to do so again any time soon. It was the first time she had come into much of a contact with so large an animal and the new Guard had found it far less pleasing than her five year old self might ever have imagined.

“You left her to work by her lonesome ?” the recruit’s father asked, of Ric, with a challenge about the assumption. “Anything could ..”

“Nothing happened,” his daughter assured him. “Well,” she locked brown eyes with Ric, and smiled. It had hardly been an uneventful shift. Narradir drowned his displeasure in his drink, and rose up, letting the chair behind him fall flat on it’s back against the floor.

“Well now, you see that it doesn’t,” the forrester warned them both, strode to the door and then returned, but was led back away again by Sorrela, from whatever he had been about to say. Or do .. “I’m looking out for you,” he cupped the young woman’s chin in his vast hand, and took her own hand in his other.

“Really. Sorry,” the recruit mouthed toward her superior, without sound, as she allowed for no obstacle to keep them, and be embarrassed a moment longer. “Come on,” she then consoled her overprotective parent. “Before you cost me my job the first week ..”

“If I thought, for one moment, ..” Narradir began, but was soothed, by his daughter’s slow shaking head.

“Mam sent me to find you,” the Guard was forced to admit, albeit as hushed as she might. As the large man stopped still where he stood, his grown daughter resorted to dragging him by the fingers, rather ineffectively.

“I came to walk your sister home,” he rallied away suddenly remembering, and pulling his hand free.

“She’s home already,” Sorrela sighed. “They’re all home. And they’re all waiting for you ..”


Swelling out his barrel chest, the forrester strode with a sudden importance out through the door, turning only at the last moment to throw a fast “And don’t you ..” in Ric's direction, before he was dragged out of sight into the street. The pub door closed behind them. And Sorrel privately swore for the hundredth time this week that she was going to move out of the family home, and all this sorts of drama that it managed to conceive. But the promise of a homecooked meal awaited the pair, that neither could pass up, and so Lieutenant Aderic was abandoned, like a horse at the gate, to enjoy what he could salvage of his own evening.

@Ercassie

The large man seemed unwilling to divulge what he felt Ric should know, and only seemed interested in delivering threats, and insinuations that Ric might harm, or let harm come to, his daughter. A puzzled expression could not be fended off as the man declared that he ought to get on with his investigation. What investigation did he mean? Just then, that same thought was echoed out loud, as a now-familiar voice joined in. Sorrela Korsey.. but hadn't she gone off duty some time ago now? He'd told her her shift would be done, once she had taken that horse to the stable... and that was at least half an hour before Ric was able to leave, since his relief didn't show up on time. For a brief second, he thought that perhaps she had come to his aid, seeing the large man bearing down on him. After a second's delay due to surprise, Ric rose to his feet as he remembered it was the proper thing to do when a lady approached his table. The chair slid back to allow this, rather than crashing to the floor as the other man's would do, in a moment.

"Ms Korsey," He acknowledged the lady's presence, the smallest trace of his surprise detectable in his tone, along with a slight question. What was she doing here? And then he paused, as he witnessed the interaction between she and the man. They seemed.. familiar with one another. His confusion increased somewhat, though he gave a nod of acknowledgement at her report concerning the horse. Before he could get a word out, the stranger spoke indignantly against the thought of her having worked alone. Really? Stabling a horse couldn't possibly be all that dangerous, he'd only asked that of her because it was a safer and easier task, and because he couldn't and wouldn't leave her at the gate alone. And yet again, before he could make any reply there, she had consoled him with the assurance she was fine. Just what was all this about?

Gradually, as the pair's continued interaction played out before him, it dawned on Ric... this was his daughter? He was Sorrela's father? And now all began to make sense, although just as soon as he made the connection, he made a further connection. Korsey. Ric had heard the story plenty of times, shaded from his own father's perspective, how the infamous Narradir Korsey had viciously attacked several guards, putting one permanently in the houses of healing before eventually being arrested. He'd even more recently read the report himself, but it was colored with the same shades of bias, due to having been written up by Adonerius Androllius himself. He had been rather close with the guard who was all but killed, after all. Ric had often wondered about the other half of that tale, whether it matched up with father's half. The fact that Mr. Korsey had threatened him now multiple times, without due cause, didn't exactly encourage any believe to the contrary.

While Ric was thus absorbed in his revelations and wonderings, the pair were already making their exit, father being escorted out by the daughter, which might have been amusing if not for the situation itself. Ric noted, belatedly, that he hadn't managed to answer Sorrela's question, but he would be seeing her tomorrow, for further training. Perhaps all would be sorted out then. With a heavy sigh, he cast a brief glance around the room at the other patrons, before quietly picking up the chair that Narradir had left on the floor, placing it neatly in its spot again. Returning to his own seat, Ric rested his cheek in his hand, with the elbow propped on the table, and let out another little sigh. His stomach reminded him that he had come here to eat, and that it had been a long time since lunch. Afraid to even ask himself if the day could get any worse, the young lieutenant quietly started on his meal at last, wanting nothing more than to just finish it and go home as soon as possible.

@Isolde Alarion
It had been an eventful few months for Trevadir. Between all of the things happening to him and his friends, it almost began to seem as if things would never calm down. But at least things had been quiet for a little bit now, and he had finally begun to find opportunities to play at a few different places now and then. While he didn't have a steady job, it was nice to get a little here and there where he could get it. Tonight, he was pleased to have been permitted to perform at the Guesthouse, which was known for its homely and cheerful environment.

He had greeted Edgar as he entered a few minutes before the appointed time. He was really glad to have been given a chance to play here. Though he had played in far worse places, he much preferred to play in establishments of good reputation, like this. The Guesthouse was quite busy in the evenings. It seemed that a great many folks tended to frequent the place, or maybe it was just one of the busier nights. Still, it was just about what he remembered it being like from when he was younger.

Some people stayed only long enough to have a meal or a single drink, and then went on their way. Others stayed longer, some sitting at the bar and enjoying more than one drink, others gathered around tables, playing games or just having a few drinks together with friends. A few times, someone would ask Trevadir to play a certain tune, which he happily obliged if he was familiar with it. But, for the most part the people seemed to enjoy the songs he chose to play. In between each song, Trevadir took a moment to dry the inside of his flute to prevent too much moisture building up; otherwise it wouldn't sound right. This also gave him a chance to reclaim his breath and take a sip of water in between songs. After doing so, he raised the flute up to his lips again, and started on another lively tune.

Mourgan
Enter the pub
Early December
@Rillewen

Pushing his way through the door Mourgan took a moment to survey the room, old habits he supposed. He didn't see anyone he knew right off the bat but there was a familiar tune in the air. A flute to be precise. He only knew of one flute player and that was Trev. His brown eyes followed the sound and found his guess to be right. As he made his way to a seat towards the back of the room from where he could watch and listen without being right up front.

He didn't feel like overly socializing, much weighed on his mind, well one thing more than anything. Her. He took a seat and when a waitress came to take his order he just asked for an ale for now. He might have something to eat if his appetite improved by then. He settled back into his chair as the waitress left him. He set to watching Trev. His playing was good, well, as much as he knew about flute music, but he did enjoy it so that had to be worth something.

It wasn't long before his drink arrived with a smile, he nodded his thanks and brought it to his lips for a drink. As he set it down on the table, he momentarily thought he might have to switch to something stronger because this wasn't going to get his mind off her and if something didn't change, he would have to do just that because he couldn't seem to crack this one. She simply didn't seem interested in him as anything more than a friend. He wasn't sure that would be enough for him.

He would have though he would be steering clear of anyone after the last one. That one had sent him into a downward spiral that nearly cost him everything, literally. He drank from his mug. Washing the taste of that memory away. Lowering the mug, he stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. Leaned back into the chair and rest his mug in his lap as he turned to listening to the music. He was tired of thinking, maybe something would come to him if he just stopped for a while.

@Isolde Alarion
Trev was very much enjoying the difference in the atmosphere here, compared to the place in Harlond where he had worked. The people seemed to enjoy his playing, and none of the people visiting the Guesthouse had the appearance of a rough or shady type character, and there were definitely no known criminals showing up here. He had been around for a couple of hours now, and had just finished a song when Edgar tapped his shoulder.

"Go ahead and take a break now, alright?" He told Trev quietly.

Trev blinked, unsure how to take that. "Am I that bad?" He asked with a slightly nervous laugh, as if he was joking. But he was a bit unsure.

Edgar grinned. "Not at all. Just don't want you wearing out your lungs. Take a break. Have a drink, or a meal if you need it. On the house," he added. "What'll you have?"

Trev stared for a second in disbelief.. this was vastly different from the way things had been in the Siren's Embrace.. there, Trev had had to go for hours with only one short break allowed, and had to pay for all his meals and drinks out of what little he earned, and had to wait until the end of the night before he could take a meal. "Uh. Lemonade." He answered, a bit delayed due to his surprise. "Thanks." He added hastily.

As Edgar nodded and started pouring a glass of lemonade for him, Trev finished cleaning his flute, then accepted the glass with a smile. "Thank you, sir." He took a glance around for someplace to sit while he sipped on it. The place was a bit full, but he saw some empty tables near the back, and started toward one of those.

Seeing someone he recognized, he paused and offered a friendly smile his way. Mourgan wasn't quite a friend of Trev's, but he was a friend of Cali's, and a roommate of Nal's. Therefore, he figured it would be good to stay on friendly terms with him. "Hi, how are you, Mourgan?" Trevadir asked, choosing the table next to Mourgan's, so that Trev would not be intruding on his table, yet was near enough to talk if the other guy was in a mood to do that.

Mourgan
Early December
W/ Trev
@Rillewen

He took another drink and lowering his mug he noticed Trev coming towards the back to a near table. He returned his greeting with a small raise of his mug and a nod. "Hello Trev." Perhaps he wasn't on such informal terms with him, but he'd often heard Cali refer to him by his nickname, so it simply came out. He offered him a small smile. "You play well." He complimented him. The smile faded and was replaced with a serious line to his jaw.

He felt the need to pull a small flask from his shirt pocket and pull the lid. He poured a small measure of the potent liquid into his ale then offered the flask out to Trev. It was a silent invitation if he wanted something to add a kick to his lemonade. "I'm glad to see you here. Much better than the Embrace aye?" A small knowing grin crossed his features. He'd been to the Siren's Embrace more times than he could count. It was a good place to let off some steam. Maybe he should have gone there but the Guesthouse was nice, and he didn't need to worry about getting his pocket picked here.

He returned to his mug and its stronger mix of contents. He looked into its amber contents. "So.." He tried to sound casual. "Have you seen Cali around?"

@Isolde Alarion
Hearing the compliment about his playing, Trev smiled. "Thanks." He replied, happy to hear it. It was always nice to hear someone complimenting his music. But the way Mourgan's smile vanished so soon after saying it, had Trev mildly concerned. Watching him pour something from his flask into the other drink he had, Trev couldn't help raising an eyebrow slightly. Adding more alcohol into an already alcoholic drink? He shook his head when the flask was offered to him next. It was friendly of him to offer, but clearly, Mourgan didn't know Trevadir all that well.

"Oh, yeah. Much better," He replied, with mild surprise when Mourgan mentioned the Siren. He tried to recall if he had ever seen Mourgan there when he'd been working there, but he mentally shrugged. That had been before he'd met Mourgan. So, either Cali had mentioned something about Trev having played there, or Mourgan had seen him there before knowing who he was. He was a bit curious which it was but didn't know if he wanted to ask.

Taking a sip of his lemonade, Trev was debating whether to instead, ask Mourgan if he was alright.. considering how he seemed sort of gloomy, when the other guy spoke first and asked about Cali. Trev glanced at him. "Around here?" He asked, with a brief glance around. "No, not likely," He answered. "She.. well she's been busy. Her and Iole are working on something 'very secretive'." He shrugged, not at all curious about the "secret", since he had already found out what it was. "Uh... you alright?" He ventured to ask. "Not trying to pry, and I know I don't know you all that well, but... you just seem sort of.." He hesitated, unsure of the right word. "like you could be happier." He settled for that after a moment. While Trev may not know what it was about, he definitely knew exactly how that could feel. "And, well.. I hope you'll pardon me for saying this, but I don't think that" he nodded toward Mourgan's drink, "is going to solve any problems. It rarely does." He shrugged slightly and sipped his lemonade.

Mourgan brought back his flask and corked it as Trev answered his question about Cali. He really hadn't expected to see her here, maybe that was why he chose the place. His brown eyes cast over to Trev as he explained about her and lole working on something "very secretive". He made a small sound of amusement. "Women and their secrets." He halfheartedly commented before taking a drink, his eyes cast back to the mug.

He took another drink as Trev asked if he was alright, lowering his mug as he continued and even motioned to said mug, saying it wasn't going to solve any problems. "Perhaps your right but this." he raised the mug slightly. "Keeps me out of trouble but your right." He quickly added. "I could be happier but instead I'm only confused." He wasn't sure how to explain to Trev that it was Cali that had him confused.

No better way than to just come out with it he supposed. "Cali. It's Cali, I just don't know about her. "He realized that might not have come out right, so he corrected himself. "I mean. She's built such tall walls I don't know if I can get through them. I don't want her to think she needs to add more brick and mortar because of me. I would never hurt her and if she asks me to leave her be I would do it. I would hate it, but I would respect her wishes." He nodded slowly; the idea was an unpleasant one. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been told to stay away but at least this time it wouldn't come with a beating.

That memory called for another drink. He wiped the ale from his lips, a motion done more out of frustration then anything. "Trev." He looked at the man. "Maybe you have some insight? Something I'm missing? I'll take anything."

@Isolde Alarion
He only gave a slow nod as the guy claimed that the alcohol kept him out of trouble. Opposite of what was the usual case, but Trev didn't really know him that well. He shrugged slightly and started taking a sip of lemonade. Hearing that Cali was his trouble, Trev lowered his glass and listened, slowly understanding as Mourgan mentioned her walls. He nodded again. He was familiar with those walls, himself, even just as a friend with a 'brother' type of relationship. In fact, he knew a good deal about building walls, himself.

He was a bit surprised when Mourgan asked him for some insight. Mainly because.. no one had ever asked him anything like that before. Not even his little brother. But then, Toby wasn't quite into courting girls yet. He smiled inwardly at that thought, but remained focused on the present situation. After a moment's pause to process the request, Trev breathed out slowly and then shifted his chair so that he was facing Mourgan.

"Alright. Well, I'm not the best guy to ask for dating advice," He began, "But I do know a few things about Cali. And I can tell you this; she definitely cares a lot about you. Maybe more than she realizes, or understands." He paused to think about that, and tried to think about how to explain it a little better. "I mean.. do you know how worried she was, when you were in the houses of healing? And how often she came to visit you?" He shrugged slightly. "I guess you were unconscious through a lot of that," He acknowledged. "And about the time you were recovering enough to be more aware of people visiting, her mother told her she ought to back off a bit and let other people visit more. But believe me, she was.. well, I've only seen her like that once or twice." He cleared his throat quietly and glanced down, fighting a surge of sorrow at those memories.

"Keep in mind," he added, bringing his gaze back up to Mourgan's. "I've been away for about five years. So, I missed a lot. But, as far as I know, Cali's never had anyone interested in her before. And I don't think she's ever had much thoughts about that stuff, either. At least, the last time I was around her," He smiled faintly, "she really wasn't into boys or any of that 'romance junk' as I think she used to call it," He smiled slightly in amusement. "You know, she had three brothers growing up, plus me, Nal, and my little brother were around all the time.. so, she was always around boys. Iole's the only girl she ever played with for girl stuff, you know?"

He paused, considering that for a moment. "Maybe.. she just doesn't really know how to react to someone being interested in her, the way you are." He mentioned thoughtfully. "In fact, she seems to me almost like she doesn't really believe that anyone would be interested in her like that. Like, she thinks we're just teasing her or something if we try to tell her we think you like her." He frowned thoughtfully as he sipped his lemonade. "Have you actually.. said anything to her, to indicate how you feel toward her?" He asked a little tentatively. "I know you asked her if she's going to the dance, but... that's not quite the same as asking her to go. You know?"

After a moment of contemplation, it seemed Trev was ready to perhaps give him some insight into Cali. When he turned to face him Mourgan moved to sit more upright in his chair and give the man his full attention.
Hearing he thought Cali cared alot for him caused his brows to sink in thought. Although he hadn't seen her alot in the HoH what with being unconscience and then it all kinda being a haze for awhile he did appreciate the times he did. He hadn't known that she'd been told to back away, he'd thought she was busy or something.

His brown eyes caught Trevs when he said she'd never had anyone interested in her before. That couldn't be right and he had a hard time believing it but then he reasoned there was a bit of truth to it too. He had himself come up against the many men in her life, brotherly or not. It's what had kept him from asking to court her. At first he hadn't known the dynamics of their relationships with her and if she were interested in any one of them he wasn't going to step into that. He wasn't like that. His eyes had come to focus on the mug in his hand but hearing the next thing he looked back at the flute player and ran his hand over his stubbled chin.

When asked if he'd actually said anything to her about how he felt he shook his head and he had to agree, asking about going and asking to go were two different things. " Suppose I never asked her to go because I didn't want her to have to turn me down." He gathered his thoughts for a moment. "I haven't expressed my feelings to her, no. I don't have the best record when it comes to actual relationships. I've kept anyone interested at arm's length I suppose to protect myself but with her, I just can't seem to do that. I've tried. With her it seems I want to run head long into the fire regardless of how it may burn me just for the chance to stand in her warmth."

He paused and looked at the ale in his mug, realizing how sappy he must sound. He set the mug on the table and pushed it away. "That'll be enough of that, next thing you know I'll be crying in my ale." He offered a small apologetic chuckle. He took a deep breath and let it out as he faced Trev. "So, you think I should let her know how I feel? Would the Ball be a good place, or would that be too public?"

@Isolde Alarion
Mourgan's reason for why he had not yet asked Cali specifically.. it made sense. Trev nodded slightly, understanding that feeling quite well. "Yeah.. rejection is.. not fun." He agreed softly, though in Trev's case, he'd not had rejection from a girl, but from his father. He took a deep breath, thinking, and wasn't sure if this would help Mourgan but he figured maybe it would. "I tried that whole.. arm's length thing before, you know." He cleared his throat. "Then I met a girl who knocked my 'arm' down and told me she was going to be my friend whether I liked it or not." He couldn't help a little grin as he thought of her.

He smiled at the way Mourgan spoke of wanting to be near Cali even if it meant he got burned, and then glanced toward him with a little smile as Mourgan seemed a little embarrassed about having said such a thing. "Nice to know I'm not the only guy who says things like that," He mentioned quietly, thinking it might make Mourgan feel less self-conscious about that. Trev had suppressed a lot of his more 'flowery' manner of speaking, so not to endure more ridicule from his former shipmates, but it still showed a lot in his writing and poetry.

Taking a small sip of his lemonade, Trev considered the question about what Mourgan should do about Cali. He wasn't entirely sure about this, and tried to think about Cali, and what she would prefer. He shrugged slightly. "I think.. she would like to know how you feel, if nothing else, to dispel any doubts she has about that. And," He glanced around briefly and leaned a bit closer, saying with a conspiratory tone, "I happen to know that despite her claiming she isn't planning to go.. she is going to the ball." He sat back again with a pleased smile. "I saw her sneaking a dress in the other day, and.. that super-secret project I mentioned that her and Iole were working on? It has to do with the dress, I think. Or maybe her mask, I'm not sure." He explained, in case Mourgan was wondering how he knew. "And, before you ask, it's definitely Cali's, not Iole's. She's got it hid away in her room, and she's being all secretive about it... and I think she thinks I don't know she's apparently changed her mind about going," He added with a little smirk. "So, I figured I'd play along and not let her know that I know."

"I'm really surprised she did change her mind, actually, because.. well, other reasons, you know." He added, incorrectly assuming that Cali would have mentioned something to him about the other reasons she was reluctant to go to the dance. "But, I'm glad too. I didn't want her staying home alone, on that day, of all days. And Nal and me are going, and Iole's got some other plans, so..." He frowned, wishing they could have convinced Iole to join them as well. "Anyway. I'm just glad she's changed her mind. It makes me feel better about going, especially since I kinda don't know anyone but her and Nal. And I've definitely got no desire to dance with Nal," He laughed, then settled into a faint smile, wishing he knew of a way to contact the girl he had mentioned earlier, and invite her to come to the ball as well.

@Rillewen – Because there be mention of your characters.

The inn was far busier than usual, despite the fact that for today at least, there was far less drinking going on than usual. Small groups were taking a break from their hunt, and partaking of refreshment as they did so. But there was scarce a one in the pub who was likely to lounge overlong off their feet. This was their base. The people of the First Circle. This was where they came to celebrate and, on this day, to collaborate. One of their own had called forth the rest, and in the First, where one is in need, all give what they can afford.

Men, women and children had been coming and going since the word went out. The milk maid, the friendly sweet lass who so many of them spoke to and waved past on a daily basis .. she was missing. Men, women and children were about the streets, searching for a sight of her, a sound or her, any word that might suggest a clue about where she had disappeared.


Sorrela had been about and amongst them all the day. Since Aderic had gone missing himself, under scandalous suspicions, the Guard recruit had been assigned to work with Thorley Darthor instead. And he had sent her to check in at the Guesthouse, in case any of the civilian search party had come up with any news to find Erynneth Raedor.

Apparently there were farmers and Rangers searching the Pelennor, foresters had taken their hunt east, as they headed through the Causeway to Ithilien. And Guards had been dispatched to convey what news was known out to the South and Northern gates. The marketplace was awash with concerned traders, all who knew the young woman and had put her to the forefront of all minds and thoughts until she was located. She was one of them, as far as any were concerned. And that made her safety their priority, as they knew their neighbours would concern for them in turn.


Sorrel was hopeful of course. Who could not be, given the vast number of people looking ? But she never would have imagined that the first clue she was made aware of all day .. would come from her own sister !

“I can’t believe you never mentioned this until now !” the tall recruit throw her head back in despair as she closed the door behind her. “Tell me properly. What happened, Rose ?” She crossed both arms expectantly and fixed a gaze on her sibling.

The younger of two young women rose off the bed that she had made, already many times that day. Her friend watched the exchange from where she remained sat. Determined not to abandon her best friend, in fear of fury from a sibling.

“Stars, I’ve already told it ..” the cleaner groaned.

“You told her,” Sorrel corrected her little sister. “And she told me. That you have something you should tell me. So tell me.”

“I was here, at work,” Roselly recited, monotone and bored. “There were two men in the room when I came in to make the bed up. It’s not rare. Guards come here all the time to get information from people who don’t want to be seen giving it.”

“Like now,” put in Diona, helpfully. Eager to be involved in any sort of drama. “Because I mean, if something happened to this milkmaid, .. Rosie could be next ..”


“Nobody is ‘next’” Sorrel assured them. “And we don’t even know if anything has happened to the milkmaid. But .. every thing we can find out may help.” The young Guard calmed her words, but focused her attention relentless upon her sister. “So what was so important that you remembered it, and had to tell your friend here ?”

“Oh she tells me everything,” that friend interjected, with a grin. And then a small rise of her chin as she beheld her friend’s elder sibling, as though she was privy to secrets. Sorrel fought the rising irritation of impatience, and turned back to glare pointedly at the informant.

“Fine. It’s probably nothing. It’s just that one of the men was that Guard, you know the handsome one …” Rose eyed Sorrela with a glint of mischief which was swiftly discarded as she caught the other’s eye. “He was talking with a fellow, tall, dark, not exactly handsome, but rather intense. And whatever they were talking about, they clammed up and both left, when I walked in on them. But the stranger … he asked if I’d seen a girl with red hair. Because it was important. And he told me if I saw this girl with red hair, then I should tell him. He didn’t say how I’d find him, but I rather got the impression that he would find me. He was kind of creepy. Very stare-y. He had a thin beard and a long tailed coat, and long hair. He smelt like he’d not washed in a few days, to say the least,” she began to veer off from relevant to random, somewhat encouraged by her friend who was hiding giggles behind one hand now.


“This is not funny,” Sorrel informed both. “What else did he say about the girl with red hair ? Did he tell you her name ? Or why he wanted to find her ?”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm no,” Roselly decided. At the end of the drawn out and enigmatic ‘hmmmm’.

“And it was the strange man, not the Guard, who asked you about the redhaired girl ?” her sister pressed.

“Yes,” was the certain response. “He asked for my name, and said he was called Lowendir.” (HERE)**

"You're so next, .." Diona bit her lower lip. "Told you it was weird. It's weird, right ?"

The Guard Recruit did not trust herself to answer, and instead turned to face the window, rather than risk giving any hint of her discomfort away in front of her little sister. “This was just before the autumn festival, last year,” she guessed aloud.

“How did you know that ?” Rose puzzled. And then relented to a “Yes, yes. It was just before the autumn festival. A day or two before. Why is that important ?”

“I don’t know yet,” Sorrel sighed. “Is there any more to it ? That you can tell me ?” Both of the younger girls shook their heads in unison and Roselly dropped back down onto the bed beside Diona.

“Oh, but then the girl was arrested !” Rose then remembered. “I saw her sneaking into the library. Though I didn’t tell him. I didn’t see why I should. He wasn’t a guard. We told Dee’s father. Didn’t we ?” she didn’t even need to turn to face her friend, but that girl was already nodding in agreement.

“Oh yes, I tell pa whatever I hear that might be ‘interesting’,” Diona didn’t shy away from admitting. “Perks of the job, and all that,” she added, alluding to her vocation as barmaid. Though she did not work at the Guesthouse. She slept there sometimes, after a nightshift, if she didn’t want to go home yet. Roselly let her sleep it off in a room that she was ‘cleaning’.


“Go back to where the red haired girl was arrested,” Sorrel held it together, and began to question why she had ever entered this line of employment. “For sneaking into the library ? Your father arrested her ?” she wanted confirmation.

“Oh no, he didn’t arrest her. She was already in the dungeon before I’d told him,” the barmaid smiled, unfazed.

“She was arrested for stealing from the laundress. Is what I heard,” Rose put in, with a determined nod.

Realising that the two were now referring to an entirely other red haired young woman, Sorrel shook her head, and saw herself out. The two were thick in gossip about the crotchety laundress before the Recruit had even left the room.

The revelation that Aderic and 'Lowendir' had met here though, and spoken together just before two other young women had been abducted ... That mention had been made of a red haired girl ... And now it was a red haired girl who was missing, just after Aderic had cut and run from his own investigation .. she was definitely going to have to speak to Thorley about this. If Diona told her father 'everything' ... then who knew that her new Guard colleague wasn't as equally informed about this whole thing, as the last one had been ! Some days it felt like Sorrel was the last one to know anything ! Her own sister had been holding onto this ? Was it important ? Was it yet more confusion to add into the pot ? Possibly both. But it was not something she was likely to forget any time soon. Not now.

It was unfortunate that her ally in this, Lady Ilisys, had gone back to Belfalas for the time being. Who then could she trust ? Could she even trust herself ? After the letter Aderic himself had sent her ... Finding her way out of the crowded inn, the tall recruit sighed, and needed a moment to herself to get this straight in her head.

She always found the time after arriving somewhere, rather exciting. Which is why it had been such a disappointment when the common room of the inn where she was currently staying had been just about the dullest place she'd ever come across. The people who'd been sitting around had been very focused on their own private conversations. There had been no music. And she did not particularly enjoy sitting by herself in a room - whether that was in the bedroom she was renting there, or sitting round a table at the common room. Therefore, it hadn't taken her long to decide to look for entertainment elsewhere.

The Guesthouse looked like an inviting place from the dark streets beyond its walls. Lights lit up the windows, with the darker shapes of many people moving around behind them. The place seemed to be bustling with activity. As the door opened briefly to allow for one patron's exit into the late evening air, music reached the brunette's ears. Yes. Perhaps this could be a fun place to pass the evening.

Making her way inside, she curiously took in the scene of the room. The reality did not disappoint, not even after the expectations that had dared to grow already! Joy tilted her lips upward as she claimed what actually looked like the last empty table. Despite how busy it was, it hardly took any time at all for a server to come up to her and take her order. She asked for some tea, wanting to warm herself after wandering the streets a while, looking for the right place. And once the server had left her table, her big brown eyes attentively - curiously - looked around the room, before settling on the musician who was regaling the patrons with his craft.

(private with @Arnyn)
The lute was among the few things the young aspiring musician had brought from home. It was the way he made his living, and therefore, highly important to him. The young man played very well, his fingers flitting over the strings skillfully while he sang along with his instrument, a fun and lively song. It was a common one, well known by just about anyone in Gondor and probably other lands beyond, but it was also a favorite of most people who frequented taverns and the like, and so he figured many would enjoy it. While he was really good at playing existing songs, he wouldn't know where to begin trying to come up with one of his own.

The lively and familiar tune had drawn in many folks this evening, it would seem, and he was pleased to see it. More people in the establishment meant that the people in charge made more money. And if they were drawn in by his music, then that meant they would be pleased to keep him on as the musician here. He had bigger aspirations, of course. He hadn't left home and come to the city merely to play music in a tavern. He could have done that back in his hometown, right? But it was a good start. Maybe, if he was really successful with this, he could find better work, maybe even become a famous musician or something, someday! That was why he had set off on his own, and although he was only a few months into his career as a musician, he felt like it was going alright so far.

The young man was glancing around a bit while he played and sang, his eyes scanning over the faces of the crowd to try and pay attention to how the music was being received. And then the door opened to admit yet another guest to the establishment. As he caught sight of the most recent addition to the room, his blue gaze halted and lingered on the lovely woman who was sitting all alone. Somehow, he managed not to forget the words to his song, nor did his fingers stumble over his strings. Yet, he couldn't seem to drag his eyes away from her. It was as if her presence drew eyes toward her, and he knew his older brother would've told him that she was 'way out of his league' or something of the sort. And yet, he couldn't help wanting to get her attention, and maybe even impress her somehow.

When the current song concluded, he paused to take a sip of water; his throat felt dry suddenly. But, after setting his glass down again, he glanced toward the lady with a small smile, then began another, wordless song. One which had a prettier, more flowing sort of sound to it than the last. And, if one knew anything about music, they might also realize that this tune had more complicated sequences to play than the previous one. Despite the added difficulty to the tune, he couldn't help but keep his eyes on the pretty lady, hoping she might be paying attention.

She'd been assessing some of the patrons; those who, at first glance, might prove interesting. Even if she was simply looking to enjoy her first evening in the White City, the wheels in her mind were turning. Always turning.

After she had been left wanting, her attention had drifted toward the entertainment provided by the Guesthouse itself. The musician, who had by then been playing a sweeter song than when she'd entered the place. He was looking at her with a little smile, and she offered a similar smile in turn. He was young, but he looked tall. Slanting her head as she thoughtfully played with the end of a lock of her dark hair, she spent a long moment looking back at him and then lowered her chin as well as her gaze to a spot on the table in front of her. Their eye contact had lasted longer than the norm. She swallowed and tucked some hair behind an ear before chancing a glance back at the musician, only to be distracted by the server who was bringing over her tea.

"Thank you," she said quietly, immediately paying the amount due to the server and then carefully wrapping both hands around the tea cup, as if she was still trying to warm herself from the chill. She glanced over at the musician once more and visibly took a deep, rather insecure breath as her eyes stayed on him. Was he even looking at her? She took a quick look around herself, trying to determine whether she wasn't misinterpreting anything. But no one close to her seemed to be focused on the young man. They were listening to his music, yes, but they were all too busy talking among themselves. Slowly, she dared cast another small smile at the lute player.

(private with @Arnyn)
She.. she smiled back! The young man was inwardly delighted to see this, and yet somehow, he managed not to grin ear to ear stupidly. His smile did, however, increase marginally when he saw the lady smiling toward him. Despite the distraction, he didn't miss a note with his song. He was good at playing, and quite confident in his skill with the lute, even if he was new to performing in front of an audience.

When she looked down and toward the table, his confidence wavered slightly. He wasn't sure if that was a subtle nod toward the empty seat at the table, meaning an invitation to join her, or if she was just.. looking away. Had he misinterpreted her smile? Perhaps she was only enjoying the music, as everyone else in the room.. maybe she was only smiling because she liked the music, and that was all. Maybe she wouldn't want to talk to him at all. He tried not to let that thought daunt him, and took in a slow breath to try and calm his nerves as he continued the song. Working through a tricky part of the melody, his gaze drifted toward his instrument for a moment.

As his blue gaze came back up to find the lady again, he watched her take a quick glance about before returning her gaze toward him. And another smile. That brought his own smile back. Had she just been checking to make sure he was looking at her, rather than someone beyond her? He thought it really cute, and he fought amusement at that idea.

The melody came to an end, and he was pleased by a bit of applause from several of the patrons. The young musician bowed to the room with a grin, then turned to catch one of the servers as she passed. He whispered to her briefly with a request for a favor.. he asked the girl, rather than any of the guy servers, because he didn't know if he could trust any of them not to claim the gesture as their own.

The girl glanced at him with a little grin. "Sure, just let me take care of this other table first," She replied, though not without a teasing glint in her eyes.

The musician grinned. "Thank you!" He said quietly as she went on her way. He looked back toward the lady at the table with a little smile as he began on another song. He would have liked to go over and speak to the lady right now, but he didn't have a break due yet, and was really hoping she would still be around when he did get one. After a minute, he saw the server girl go into the back, and when she returned a moment later, she went straight over to the lady's table. His smile grew wider as he saw that the girl had indeed done the favor he asked of her.


The server girl offered a smile as she approached the lady's table. "Good evening, ma'am, I hope you're enjoying your tea." She greeted her. "Uh.. our musician asked that I deliver this to you," She explained, looking as if she might be trying not to look amused as she presented a single, light purple flower, while motioning toward the young man playing the lute. "He'll have a break coming up in a bit..." She added, figuring the lady could choose if she wanted to stick around and wait for the break and talk to him, or leave before he took his break if she preferred to avoid him. "Can I get you anything to eat, while I'm here?"

She noticed when the musician pulled aside one of the servers, a girl, and briefly shared words with her. Sipping her tea thoughtfully, she watched their brief interaction and when the musician met her eyes again, she quickly cast her gaze down at her tea - but just a little too late for him to miss she had been looking at him. She forced herself to keep her eyes down for a while as she started on her tea, and used the time this gave her to mull things over.

When she heard a girl's voice at her table, the brunette looked up curiously. It was the server girl - the same one whom the musician had spoken to, earlier. "The tea is good, yes, thank you," she said, just loud enough for the girl to hear her. Upon the presentation of the flower, the brunette's lips parted with mild surprise. "He did?" she asked quietly, before slowly raising her eyes from the flower to the server. Her hand reached out to accept it already, though, before the girl could respond. The information that the musician's break was coming up, was met with speechlessness, her lips hovering half an inch apart.

Her reply to the question about food came later than would be expected, as the brunette's gaze first travelled back from the server to the musician, before returning to the girl. "Maybe something small," she said with a little nod. "Do you have any soup, perhaps? That would be ideal. You could just bring it over in a mug, so I can drink it rather than eat it from a bowl?"

Once the serving girl and the brunette had agreed on the soup and the way it would be brought over to her, the server left and the brunette was turning around the flower with her fingers, making sure to handle it with care as she took in its soft purple shade. She smiled, happily, and looked back over at the musician. Her smile softened as their eyes met, and with one hand she fixed the flower in her hair, by her ear.

(private with @Arnyn)
While he was playing the next song, he watched.. trying not to be too distracted, but how could he help but look over there? The flower changed hands. That was a good sign, right? She had accepted it, and then.. he had to wonder what the server girl was saying. She had nodded toward him, to let the lady know who had sent the flower. Good. He offered a smile toward her, while his fingers worked the strings of his instrument.

After a moment, the lady was left alone once again. He watched as she toyed with the flower for a moment, then tucked it into her hair before looking at him again. His smile widened further, pleased to see that she seemed pleased by it, even though he had not had the ability to go and pick it himself. Although the young man enjoyed the work here as a musician, tonight, he wanted more than anything to be done.. so he could go and greet the beautiful lady, and find out her name, and whatever else he could find out about her.

It seemed like an eternity before the time came for his break, and in that time, he found it difficult to take his eyes off of her. She was just so.. stunningly beautiful, in his eyes, he was continually worried that some other guy would steal her attention away before he had a chance to even speak to her. Yet, it warmed his heart to see her occasionally glance toward him with that shy little smile. Once, she even lightly brought her hand up to touch the flower, as if checking that it hadn't fallen out of her hair.

Finally, the time came for him to take a break! He had played for a while now, and while it was fun, and he was hoping to make a career of his musical ability, he was eager to go and speak to her before she decided to leave out of boredom, or losing interest. Carrying his lute along, held by his side, the young man started toward the table he had been gazing toward ever since she came in. Suddenly, his stomach was attached by butterflies, and he took a slow, deep breath as he walked steadily toward her, trying to calm his nerves. He almost couldn't believe a woman as lovely as her might actually have an interest in an ordinary guy like him.

What was he even going to say? How should he greet her? He had no time to try and rehearse his thoughts and words ahead of time, as he was nearly at her table by now. As he arrived, he felt a bit tongue-tied for a second, smiling at the pretty lady up close. "Hi." The first word out of his mouth was hardly what he would have chosen, but it sort of came out before he could find anything better to say.

A little flush crept onto his face, warming his cheeks and ears as he tried to find something more eloquent to say. "It's.. not really pretty enough," He told her apologetically, then thought he should clarify. "The flower, I mean.. it can't really compare to you, but.. I hope you liked it?" He cleared his throat. "Sorry, that might have been a lousy compliment..." He realized, a little unsure about how well that might have been taken. He paused, wondering it would be too brazen to outright ask to sit with her. "Are you.. waiting for someone, miss?" He asked, with a small motion toward one of the empty chairs, with a little hope that the answer was no. Although, inwardly, he feared that she might reveal that she was actually already spoken for, and that she was only waiting for her guy to arrive.

She'd finished her tea and had already started on the soup by the time the musician was able to take his break. But she had felt his eyes on her the whole time, and even though she did not doubt that he would seek her out on his break, it still gave her a bit of a rush when he started his approach and it became clear he was heading for her table. She bit both her bottom and upper lip briefly, making her blush lips just that little bit redder before he reached her and spoke - and before she looked up at him slowly. All her movements were just a tad slower than normal, giving her a specific kind of effortless elegance and feminine grace.

She blinked at him when he said it was not really pretty enough, as if she did not catch his meaning. When he added he was speaking of the flower, she parted her lips with a hint of a smile, which faded once again when he complimented her. She drew in a breath, ready to reassure him, but he was rambling, and when he paused, she was not sure what would be best to say. There was little need to decide as of yet, though - he immediately filled the void with another question, after all. The brunette took in another slow, deep breath, before shaking her head with her chin angled down slightly toward one shoulder as she escaped eye contact for just a moment. "No," she said in her velvety voice, "I'm not waiting for anyone." Her words were soft, but not hesitant. Her hands were turning the mug of soup around on the table, bit by bit. And as she looked back up at him, her eyes were wide and hopeful. "Would you be willing to join me? I... hate sitting alone."

"And I think it was a nice compliment," she added as her gaze escaped from him and fled to the tabletop. "Even if it's a bit too generous." She managed a smile when she looked back at his eyes, which were just the perfect shade of blue. "It was really nice of you." One hand reached up to the purple flower in her hair. "Have you come to reclaim it?"

It was nice to hear he wasn't the only one that had such thoughts when it came to women and expressing himself. He was intrigued as Trev informed him that Cali was going to the Ball, as he explained her secret mission and that the dress was hers. His brows furrowed lightly in thought. It would be a good opportunity to take Trevs advice and finally tell her how he felt.

Trev continued to talk as he thought but it was his words that brought his attention fully back to the man. Other reasons? Curiosity crossed his features as he listened further. "What are the other reasons?" He knew about the kidnapping but was there more to it? "Do they have to do with the kidnapping?" He was curious now.

(private with @Arnyn)
Hearing that she was not waiting for anyone, he fought a smile. He couldn't help admiring the graceful and elegant way she moved, just for a simple movement like looking up at him. It was impressive, and he could just imagine how she must move when she walked. He swallowed briefly as she looked up at him again, with those lovely, big brown eyes. Full of hope, as she asked him to join her. Even if he'd wanted to turn her down, how could he, after that?

"I'd love to," He admitted with a genuine smile. Sliding into one of the chairs at her table, he paused to carefully prop his instrument up in another, making sure it wouldn't slide and fall to the floor before he turned his full attention back to the lady. "It's never much fun, sitting alone, is it?" He agreed with her words about hating to sit alone. "I sit alone most of the time.. I don't really know anyone here in the city, so.." He shrugged slightly, but trailed off. He was more interested in learning about her.

His smile brightened upon hearing that she had thought the compliment was nice. "You must be joking," He disagreed with her 'too generous' addition. "I have to say.. even if I totally fail as a musician, it would've been worth it.. just to have this chance to meet you." He told her sincerely. His smile widened a little. "Coming to Minas Tirith might just be the best idea I've ever had." He grinned as he thought of all the other cities he could have come to.. and all the other taverns he might have worked for, she had come into this one. Whatever Valar was in charge of luck must be smiling down on him, right? His grin probably looked a little stupid, but he couldn't help it.

He shook his head in mild surprise when she asked if he had come to reclaim the flower. "Oh, no, that's for you," He assured her. "But.. I would like to ask your name.. if I may?" He added hopefully.

---

@Isolde Alarion
Trev was caught off guard when Mourgan asked him about the other reasons. He paused, blinking as he came to a realization. "Oh.. She didn't tell you." He wasn't exactly asking, but rather speaking rhetorically. His frown deepened as Mourgan asked if it was related to the kidnapping. He cleared his throat and looked down at his mug, trying to think of how to explain this.

A part of him was a bit hesitant to tell the guy, if Cali hadn't already. But another part thought that maybe, if he knew, it would help him to understand her a little more. And girls could be hard enough to understand without added difficulties, right? He thoughtfully tapped the tabletop for a moment before reaching a decision.

"I don't know if that's got much to do with it," He answered about the kidnapping. "I think she's mostly gotten over that, but I could be wrong." He glanced up at Mourgan. "I think for her, it's mostly about the day that the dance is on." He explained. He paused to consider how to explain it. "You.. know she had a twin brother, right?" He checked, pretty sure that he must know that by now. "A twin brother who.. died." He added, reluctant to say that, but it was a fact.

Trev paused then, struggling to find the right words here. "The thing about the dance is.. it's on the same day as Ryn's birthday." He explained quietly, then swallowed as he glanced away briefly, fighting past the sorrow. It had been easier to push the sorrow to the back of his mind, when he had been away from everyone else, and could easily almost pretend that Ryn was just.. back home, like Nal and Cali and Iole, and Toby and everyone else.

He took in a deep breath before looking back up at Mourgan. "I haven't been around for the last few years, but I know the last time I was around for this time of year.. Cali, well.. it was a really hard time for her." he explained quietly. "They always used to celebrate both days together, like one really long birthday." He smiled a little sadly at the memory of the fun they all used to have. "Oh, her birthday is the day after, by the way.." he realized that she likely had not told Mourgan that.

"Anyway," He cleared his throat softly. "I'm glad she's decided on going to the dance, at least. I was worried she was going to mope around and be sad all day... so, maybe that's a sign that she's healed somewhat from what she was like a few years ago." He mentioned hopefully.

Her face lit up when he said he would love to sit with her, and she moved forward a bit in her chair, her hands once again wrapped around the mug with what was left of her soup. When he said he didn't really know anyone in the city, her eyes widened a little. "Really? Neither do I!" She sounded a little excited. "Well, I mean, only my uncle. But he is very busy. And I am not staying with him." The way she said it made it sound like she definitely wouldn't want to, even if he asked. "Besides him, I don't really know anyone. A few faces - but..." She looked away and shrugged one shoulder. "No real friends, or even good acquaintances... You know? I have been away from Minas Tirith for a long time, and I've only just returned today, so... I'm at a bit of a loss, actually," she admitted. "I'm not sure where or how to start over." Her gaze returned to the musician's. "Have you been here long?"

She blinked when he said she must be joking about his compliment being too generous. His words brought an incredulous smile to her face, and she hid her embarrassment behind the mug as she took a sip. "Don't be silly," she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. Despite her embarrassment, it was also obvious that she was flattered by his compliments. When she lowered the mug back to the table, her brown eyes sparkled at him. "Of course you may! Meluiel. Or Melui, if you prefer... What is yours?"

(private with @Arnyn)
It seemed they had something in common! That was a good thing, right? He smiled when the lady spoke of not knowing anyone except her busy uncle. "I know how that is," He answered sympathetically, nodding. "I mean, I've gotten to know the servers here, and the guy in charge, but aside from that? I haven't really had a chance to make any new friends or anything." He sighed, shrugging, before leaning a little forward, with his arms folded comfortably on the table, listening as she spoke of having been away from the city for a long time. "So, you grew up here, or..?" He asked curiously, trying to get a little more clarity about that, since she said she had been gone for a long time. Maybe, if her uncle lived here, she had merely visited the city as a child and had not been back in years.

"Oh, me?" he wasn't sure why he was so surprised when she asked about himself. "I've been around a couple of months, now." He smiled. "Left home a while back, to try and become a famous musician in the big city," He grinned. "So far.. I've gotten to where I'm.. sorta-almost-known by the regulars here at the Guesthouse? If that counts." He laughed softly before settling into a smile when she seemed to get embarrassed at his compliment to her beauty. "I mean it," He told her, shaking his head. "but if it embarrasses you, then I'll try to hold off from mentioning how beautiful you are.. too often." He vowed with at least a small amount of reluctance, though he tried to make it sound a bit like he was joking.

Hearing her name brought another smile to his face. "Meluiel, how lovely. It fits you, I think." He informed her, delighted to find out her name, and mentally repeating the name over and over, while gazing at her with a little smile. When she asked in return about his own name, he blinked as his mind seemed to have gone blank for a second. "My name?" Then with a slightly awkward laugh, he did a tiny headshake as if to clear his head. "Sorry," he tried not to look too embarrassed about that brief forgetfulness. "I'm Ûrion," He told her, quite delighted that she had enough interest to ask him his name. "I'm told that it means 'Son of Fire'," He added with a little grin, adding a bit of dramatic emphasis on the meaning, before shrugging. "I dunno how fitting it is for me, but.." He trailed off with another little shrug, trying to remember not to ramble.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to take another risk, and asked, "Maybe.. uh, since you said you haven't been to Minas Tirith in a long time, I was thinking. Perhaps, sometime when you've got the time, I could show you around the city?" He suggested with a little hint of hope in his voice. "There's this great bakery on the next level.. it's closed right now, but they've got the best pastries. I've not been here long enough to learn the city as well folks who've lived here all their lives, but, well.. that's a good place to start I guess, and, maybe we could explore the city together?" He smiled slightly, hoping she wouldn't think that it was too forward of him to suggest spending so much time together, when they'd only just met.

He leaned forward on the table a little, as if he was subconsciously mirroring the way she'd shifted forward in her seat a bit. As if he was seeking to be closer to her. She couldn't believe her luck when he mentioned he'd left home a while back and that he'd been in Minas Tirith for a few months now.

She grinned when he laughed lightly at himself. "We all have to start somewhere," she offered kindly. "You are starting out here, but who knows where you will end up before long, let alone in the end?" One finger trailed the edge of her mug as she lowered her gaze to it when he returned to the topic of how beautiful she was. A little ghost of a smile playing around her lips now, her brunette locks falling forward just a little. "Ûrion," she repeated as well, as if she was testing the taste of the name on her lips and tongue. A slight blush coloured her cheeks. "Fire is nice," she said quietly. "Warm." She pushed some of her hair back, pulling it back behind her neck and then all forward over just one shoulder as she shrugged lightly. "You are being very warm to me, at least. You know. Kind, and welcoming. It fits you well in that regard." She offered him a sweet, albeit an insecure, smile.

"I... I grew up in a lot of places," she backtracked a little, because she felt that background was necessary in reply to his suggestion. When he mentioned the bakery, she almost couldn't believe her ears. "But yes... To have someone like you showing me around and re-acquainting me with the city would be better than anything I'd hoped for. Ûrion."

Her eyes travelled to the lute, propped onto a free chair. "Your playing is wonderful," she told him softly, avoiding direct eye contact when she paid him the compliment. "Especially that last melody."

(private with @Arnyn)
Her kind words of encouragement made him smile even bigger. "Yeah, you're right." Ûrion agreed happily. "Everyone does start somewhere." He nodded. "Thanks. One day, maybe I'll get a chance to play in one of the upscale taverns, where only the rich folks can afford to eat. And from there, maybe I'll even become famous, and people will ask me to play for big events, and.. I don't know. It's probably best to just focus on one goal at a time, right?" He smiled, watching her trail a finger around the rim of her mug.

When she repeated his name, he thought it sounded way nicer than it ever had. Just hearing her say it. He grinned as she went on to speak about how warm and welcoming he had been, and how the name fit him so well. "I never thought about it like that, before." He admitted with a smile. The way she pulled her hair around, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her. Ûrion felt certain he had never seen a more beautiful lady, and could hardly believe that she was actually talking with him. And then she agreed to the idea of him showing her around!

Ûrion's smile brightened further. "Yeah? Well.. uh, what about.. maybe, having a late breakfast, then? Or do you prefer early? Or somewhere in the middle? Or maybe lunch?" He hastened to add more options, so she could choose whatever suited her. "At the bakery, I mean. It's called Nell's bakery.. it's in the market, not hard to find." He made sure to mention the name of the place, lest he forget to actually tell her which bakery!

When she mentioned a compliment to his playing, Ûrion glanced at the lute with a small smile before turning back to her. "I'm glad you liked it," He answered happily. "And.. thanks. I enjoy playing." He paused, looking back at her. He was more interested in learning about her. "Do you have any hobbies you enjoy doing, Melui? Or.. do you have any favorite songs?" He added, hoping she might mention one that he would be familiar with.. maybe he could play it for her after his break was done. He'd play any song she requested, so long as he knew it. And if he didn't know it, he'd learn it as soon as he was able.

She flashed a grin when he suggested a late breakfast, then an early one, followed by basically any other option she might like. Meluiel slanted her head, considering the suggestions. "The bakery has seating? What time do you have to work tomorrow? I wouldn't want to pick an option that leaves us with too little time," she explained, before smiling at her soup and lifting her gaze up at him yet again. "I should be able to find it," she reassured him. "The bakery, I mean."

His inquiry about hobbies made her shrug one shoulder. "I like reading," she offered. "And I like to keep busy. I like to run. And I can do a bit of magic," she said, her eyes glinting mysteriously. "Nothing too crazy..." She took the small spoon the server had left for her soup, held it up to him and flipped it around between her fingers. The spoon was suddenly nowhere left to be seen, as she turned her hand front and back to him. A little giggle escaped her as she looked at his expression. "None of these hobbies are very special though. It's nothing like what you can do with your music. Do you know 'The Rogue's Heart' by any chance?" It was a slow and very pretty tune, with beautiful but kind of haunting lyrics. A staple with many bards. "I particularly enjoy that one," she admitted with a smile.