'Winter Is Come Inn' (Pub RP)

Seven Stars and Seven Stones and One White Tree.
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Seasons as a whole tend to be mild in the South. Citizens of Gondor tend to need little excuse for a fresh drinking establishment. Neither do the Rangers now require half the foodstuffs which had been stored in their Barracks; for the bulk of these brave folk are currently abroad, and the heaving military pantries back in Minas Tirith under threat of spoiling and wastage in the meantime.

The answer assumed shape of the Winter is Come Inn. A pop-up temporary type of place where those surplus supplies are available, here only, for as long as until they run out. Having usurped the biggest space in the First Circle, still boasting four walls that held a roof up, Rangers Ilisys Azrubel and Pele Alarion had taken it upon themselves to feed the general populace from this mountain of resources and endow any profit unto the widows and orphans of the Great war charity.

A single white tree (a painted branch in a square pot, essentially) sits in pride of place as mascot of the season, wearing a few choice earrings and cat toys that could be gained and glammed up at short notice. Chairs and tables are a mismatched delight of contributions from local households and generous shop-owners. Candles are likewise scattered over all of the raised surfaces with reckless and whimsical abandon, so that the entire ‘inn’ resembles more a hastily gathered harvest from a community that cares, coming together at the coldest (but not really) time of year.


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In honour of the theme being to feed the needy and provide warm bellies in the face of a nearly non-existent freeze, an option is provided for folk without means of paying, to contribute in a currency of other than coin. A long, oaken bar has been constructed to run the length of the room, as well as a makeshift stage off to one side. While the former is the obvious goal for anybody wanting to order a drink, or meal, those who find their purses light are welcome, pretty much encouraged actually, to ascend the latter, and show off a skill or talent of any type at all which they think might raise a cheer. Their reward, a hot cooked meal and a drink, free of charge, courtesy of Pele herself, manning the kitchens.

If you are short on talent but rich in friends, someone else can perform to provide your food. Honestly, anyone who feels so inclined is welcome to steal the spotlight for their five minutes of fame. Their budget (they weren’t given one) did not stretch to a band, after all. One hastily erected banner wilts over the hastily erected ‘soapbox’ with the phrase ‘Sing for your Supper’ altered to read ‘Do some thing/whatever you like .. for a free supper. Or contribute something to the widows and orphans of Minas Tirith charity. And still eat/drink well and be proud of your participation.


Welcome to the Winter Is Come Inn. Winter may not in fact be coming in this neck of the woods, well, mountains .. but the good times, they sure are.


Rules :
1) IC posts only here. Take any OOC to City Hall or discord etc please.
2) Character icons (small ones) are allowed in your post to assist visual imagination of the scene. They are however NOT mandatory. Your choice.
3) No spamming or godmoding please. If you cross lines or incur OOC complaints, you may be asked to leave. Thanks for understanding
Last edited by Ercassie on Sat Dec 19, 2020 12:20 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Ilisys Azrubel
At your service ..


Walking her own personal tightrope (that was a wide surfaced, strong wooden counter), the woman of Dol Amroth placed her expensive boots slowly, one each before the other. Eyes closed, she teetered, arms raised as though sails at each side of her, utterly imagined and for dramatic performance more than anything else. The sensation of flight was heightened as she leapt deftly from her perch to a creaking dinner table and darted from chair to chair as though the seats were stepping stones across a boulder-choked channel.

Coming to the bare wall, she frowned, and tapped her chin with one finger, before unveiling a short stick of blue chalk with a flourish from amongst her rich fall of ebony hair. Quite how long the lady had been carrying it so was anybody’s guess, as was the reason behind it. Isys was not known for reason. She was known for a very good family name, and a repute of some eccentricity. Melded with a seeming naïve trait for generosity, few lingered over the fact of her being a Ranger, a Knight, a warrior. Having decided to switch clothes with a laundress earlier that day, again for reasons all her own, or no reasons whatsoever, she certainly did not look the part of .. well, any clear part at all really.

What did you say that you are happy to cook ?” she asked of Pele who was setting up the kitchen, in a curtained off backroom. As her friend reeled off a decent menu, Isys drew words on the wall so that folk could take pick.


- Minced meat and pumpkin pie
- Boiled potatoes with creamy mushroom sauce
- Beef and veg stew

- Honey cake
- Berries with whipped cream
- Apples with caramel sauce

- Cinnamon spiced tea
- Mead
- Elderberry Wine
- Apple juice
- Water


The noblewoman had accepted the role of waitress and server, sure that she could at least make most of the drinks which they had means to brew. Though her socialite mother had pressed the need for Isys to be schooled in duties as a hostess, it was quite unlikely that this was what Lady Eressild had had in mind.

Losing grip of the slowly devolving chalk, the woman frowned to see it shatter into three small pieces. Aware of the first few curious folk starting to edge in, she gathered up the shards and duly juggled their tiny colourful tubes, humming all her way back to behind the bar. The mice did not applaud, but settled in a corner nonetheless, hopeful for more excitement (and maybe crumbs) to come !
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Pele, Ranger turned chef
Just as soon as she had told Isys the menu she had thought of, Pele began to wonder whether she could actually make it all happen. Some food was easier to make than the other, and yet there was so much to do; and how was she to know how much she should make?

But first things first. At least she had a stove for cooking and baking, a few tables, and very necessary pots, pans, knives and other kitchen things. The fire was going; water was poured in some bigger pots and set up to be heated...

"Well, this definitely seems a different kind of difficult," she said, pulling the curtain aside to glance at Isys, while considering what she should make first. "Should I clean five potatoes or maybe five pots full of potatoes? I'm not going to do door-to-door food delivery, if anything is left over!" While her words might suggest annoyance, a spark of merriment danced in Pele's blue eyes and manifested in a somewhat mischievous grin. "If that happens we should send Cadil and Unalmis..."

Returning to her impromptu kitchen to make the cake. "Eggs, flour, honey..." she said, picking each of the ingredients and putting them into the bowl. After some hearty mixing she was satisfied with the result and spread one layer into a baking pan. In the oven it went, and Pele set about peeling potatoes and carrots.
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Vipsania

Winter was her favorite time of year. Vipsania loved the icy chill in the air, the howling blast of frozen wind that roared down of the mountains to hit unsuspecting passersby full in the face. She loved the flurries that blotted out everything save for a few feet in front of her. She loved the swirling ice crystals that formed on her eyebrows and the web of icicles that formed on Ystr’s beard. She loved the way the air from her breath spun out and pirouetted like an ephemeral, translucent dancer. She loved the smell of peppermint and cinnamon; she loved the smell of sweet baked goods and roasting meats. Once again, she had far outpaced her bodyguard, leaving poor Ystr to have to navigate his own way in the bustling streets. Vipsania wrapped her dark grey cloak tighter around her as she stopped and peered at the name of the building she stood in front of. “Winter Is Come Inn?” she giggled, “Clever. If you’re stew is half as good as your puns then I may never leave.” She looked down the street. Ystr may have been taller than all the rest of the patrons outside, but he far behind her. She clucked her tongue “Ystr! My mother will be very cross with you if you manage to lose me a third time in as many trips outside!” He looked up, hearing her jeering call. His smile was broad. She coyly waved to her bodyguard and slipped inside the pub.

The change from the icy exterior to the fire warmed interior was immediate and apparent. The breath she’d been holding puffed out, dancing and vanished as soon as she stepped inside. She pulled down the hood of her cloak and inhaled the smell of the pub, her fiery red hair tumbling over her face in disheveled ringlets, she pushed her hair aside, and smiled with mischievous glee. Her mother and father hated that she enjoyed frequenting places like this. They would tell her that as members of the upper echelons of society, they had a duty to frequent more reputable establishments. Vipsania, naturally, ignored all their attempts and grooming her. She hated visiting country clubs where they pranced about and rode horses so prim and proper that the sound of a belch would send everyone into a conniption fit. She hated the parlors where the men and women separated, where men would drink brandy and talk around a roaring fireplace and discuss politics and “great matters” while women were given tea and knitting circles to gossip about how much they hated their husbands but their husbands were still better than all the others. It so star forsaken boring! Vipsania much preferred things in the first circle where they enjoyed life and enjoyed each other.

The pub seemed relatively empty, but then it was still early in the day. Vipsania sidled up to the counter and sat on a stool, wiggling and shifting until she found the perfect, most comfortable spot.

“I think this is a wonderful establishment you’ve made here,” she said in a friendly, open tone. She glanced at the wall and began to read, her jades eyes darting back and forth as her smile widened. “I’d love to some tea to start and warm up the insides a bit and a bowl of the beef and vegetable stew? Or, wait… no. Honey cakes! Definitely honey cakes, but you have to share one with me! And once my… friend wanders in here, he’ll probably want something stronger than tea. He’ll have a mead, I bet.”
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Berrik and "Dina"

One day it was almost warm, the next day freezing cold, the wind rushing down the mountains with a horrible bite to it. With no cloak to wrap around him, her instead crossed his arms across his chest, head bent slightly to avoid the wind hitting him right in the face. Usually in weather like this he would be walking briskly, if nothing else to keep warm and to get where he was going faster. But with little "Dina" in tow, he had slowed his pace considerably over the last few months. At first he hadn't, forcing the girl to run as fast as she could just to keep up. But now that he had resigned himself to her following him everywhere, he kept a pace that she could manage.

A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed she was still following a couple of footsteps behind him. She never walked beside him and never allowed him to hold her hand, always flinching back from any kind of touch. The only times she would touch him, was on the coldest nights where she would snuggle up with him for warmth. But never before he had fallen asleep. She would wait until he dozed off before creeping up and carefully snuggling in so as to not wake him.

She was as much of a conundrum now as she was back when she had first appeared. She still did not speak, only the occasional whimpers when she was having a bad dream, but if truth be told he would give anything to hear her speak. He could only guess at what had happened to her as she would not answer any of his questions that had to do with her family, assuming she must have lost both of her parents. Given how young she was, it must have been a recent thing as there was no way she could survive on the streets on her own for long, likely why she had sought out someone. Not that he was doing that good a job of it.

Wincing as a blast of cold air hit him in the face, he ducked his head down even further and almost missed the new inn that had sprung up overnight. He did a double take, seeing the bright lights spill out of the large windows. He stopped so suddenly that the little girl almost bumped into him, barely avoiding barreling right into him.

"Oh what's this then, eh?" He had stopped expecting a response, though he still spoke to her like she would.

Pausing for a moment he slowly read out the name of the inn, stumbling over the first word as he could barely read. After a moment he stepped over to the window and peered inside. It looked like it had been put together in a hurry, with haphazard furniture and a makeshift bar. He briefly shot a look at "Dina" as she scrambled up onto an empty crate so that she could look inside as well, nose pressed in against the cold glass.

"Might be worth heading in and seeing if there are any jobs going, whaddya think?"

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Nessa with the children (technically one child one teenager)

Nessa de Argosy sat in front of her dressing table while Hannah was arranging her wavy chocolate brown locks into a slightly messy chignon. Her 7-year-old daughter Ellin was already dressed in her deep berry gown, her caramel coloured hair braided in a fishtail side braid and was watching her get ready. Or turning herself into a princess, as Ellin liked to call the process. She looked in the mirror, caught her daughter’s gaze in it and smiled. Her daughter smiled back and whispered that she looked beautiful. She felt herself relaxing even further as Hannah hummed a festive tune and styled her hair. Finally, as a finishing touch, the teen wove holly in her hair and Nessa couldn’t help but laugh happily as she turned her head this way and that to see what the teen had come up with.

She turned around and looked at her daughter and the girl who during the years became if not like daughter, then surely a younger sister to her. Seeing as this was a festive occasion and all three of them were going out together, she had managed to persuade Hannah to wear a steel blue gown she got her when they arrived in Minas Tirith and leave her russet hair unbound.

“You both look beautiful!” she told the girls as she got up and smoothed out her wine coloured dress. She hugged and kissed both the girls, grateful that they allowed her to show her affection this way. Most of all she was grateful that they were all here together, and that they were healthy and happy.

“Mum, we’re going to be late!” Ellin told her as she squirmed out of her embrace and Nessa laughed at her daughter’s antics.
“Alright, starling, we’re going,” she said with a smile. “The Inn won’t grow legs and run from the first circle you know?”
“I know that mum,” her daughter replied seriously. “It’s not Baba Yaga’s hut.”

They all laughed and Nessa had to wipe away the tears from the corner of her eyes before she managed to get herself and the girls out of her bedchamber and downstairs to the hall so they could put on their cloaks and be on their way to the first circle. The walk from the fourth circle to the Inn was rather brisk, for Ellin set the pace not wanting to miss out on any of the entertainment. Although Hannah valiantly tried to walk in a more sedate pace, she was quickly caught up in the excitement and her pace quickened. Walking a few steps behind them Nessa watched the girls and let them skip and walk as they pleased, not carrying about what anyone would think.

When they passed through the gate into the first circle, Nessa took her daughter’s hand in hers so she wouldn’t lose her in the crowd. They walked slowly now, weaving through the crowd until they reached their destination.

“Were here mum!” Ellin exclaimed while she looked around excitedly, eyes wide and sparkling with delight. She then noticed a little blond girl (Dina) standing on an empty crate looking through the window at the Inn, an older boy (Berric) standing beside her. “Mum,” she said and gestured to the kids. “Can I go play with the girl?”

Nessa looked at the boy and the little girl who’s nose was pressed on the window and then at her daughter. “Yes, you can play with them. However, you need to ask her brother,” she told her daughter despite not knowing if the children were related. “If his sister can play with you. Be nice, starling. And if the girl can’t play with you for whatever reason you do not insist? Alright?”
“Yes, mum,” Ellin said nodding her head. “I won’t bother them if they don’t want to play.”
“That’s my darling girl,” she told her and crouched down to give her a hug and a kiss. Ellin squirmed a little but allowed her mother to hug her. “Hannah will be with you,” she said looking at the teen who nodded. “I’ll be inside, helping with the food or whatever they need doing. Please don’t forget to tell the kids they can come in and get something to eat if they’re hungry.”

Both girls nodded and Ellin took Hannah’s hand and tried to walk calmly toward the two children. Nessa suppressed a laugh at her daughter’s valiant attempt to suppress her excitement and act like a lady. There would be plenty of time for Ellin to learn when that was needed. Shaking her head she entered the Inn and looked around to see who was there. She noticed Lady Ilisys at the bar and a redhead girl (Vipsania) sitting at the counter, but she couldn’t see Pele. The Master Healer said she was going to be here, so perhaps she should try the kitchen.

“Hello,” she greeted Ilisys with a smile. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Nessa, and I work with Pele at the Houses of Healing. Is she here? I came to lend her a hand in the kitchen.”
She/her.
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In a month's time Gondorians along the swift-flowing river Erui had a saying about Beren Camlost: Every week his beard got a little longer and his conversations a little shorter. It wasn't Beren's intention to be curt, just brief. It wasn't just that he was constantly sorting and organizing a myriad of details pertaining to his lebethron farm in Imloth Melui. Nor was his retreat from the social scene due to his post-traumatic-stress and survivor's guilt which troubled him since the War of the Ring which he participated in with his northern relatives.

Ill news he received unexpectedly made the jovial adventurer sullen. His incessant drinking, boredom, neglect of friends, and general gloomy temperament drove his daughter, Aileen Camlost, to secretly contact Addhor. Aileen discovered a heartfelt plea to Addhor which her father wrote and left carelessly on his desk at home, asking him for a meeting at the Winter Is Come Inn. Beren procrastinated on sending it for days but desperate Aileen had made the assertive decision for Beren, mailing it herself while her father was gone from home patrolling the Ithilien-Mordor border. The unavoidable subject was discussed when Beren spoke with Addhor during a supply journey to Minas Tirith. Beren pretended he did send the message which is why he now came dragging his feet inside the pub his friend Lady Isys and Pele Alarion were hosting.

Beren found a small measure of peace gazing at Isys while she worked, laughing quietly when he saw her chalk seperate into several pieces. There was a certain comforting serenity about Isys which usually had a tranquil effect on him, one of the reasons why Beren visited her home often before the Letter turned him into an embittered workaholic recluse. When Isys started leaping suddenly to a rickety table, the suddeness triggered a memory...an agile Orc, one of too many, charging with a broad scimitar swinging towards Khallador...

Beren, startled, collided against Nessa, his healer who was speaking to someone. Fortunately she didn't have a drink or holding any food. "Pardon me, Ness," the big man mumbled in apology, averting her gaze, calling her . Nessa was the wife of Turin Ringhûn, one of his Ranger friends here in the south. Beren was Morana's patient in Pelargir immediately following the War of the Ring before his voyage back to the Wethrin Isles; she had recommended him (with some acerbic insults to his inability to keep in touch) to Nessa when he came back to Gondor for good this year. Before the Letter, Beren had regular appointments with her so he could stay in the army. Counselling sessions and visitations for medicine regarding his disorder. He was a stubborn prideful man. He didn't want Nessa to know about the Letter because he would feel emasculated. His avoidance of Nessa's advice and her remedies to help him had contributed to his depression, he knew, but his egoism still had gotten the better of him. "How about I buy you a meal in recompense?" he asked smoothly, mastering his nerves, and forced a smile. He knew any minute she would question him about his absences from the Healing House.

"You look fit," Beren remarked with a wink at Isys. She had been wounded during one of their missions. He had been her medic for a time. "You know, with beauty and nimbleness like that one could mistake you for an Elf at first sight." Beren gave Isys a pouch of gold coins amounting to two hundred pieces. "For the widows and the orphans," Beren uttered, somber now. "You can take out how much ever you need for my food and drink-" he shot Nessa a glance '- and hers, if my friend will accept the treat. I'll pay for whatever the little ones want and for my pal, Addhor, he'll be here soon." He looked at Isys' menu she drew with chalk on the wall. Beren had a large apetite but he was going to try curbing his enthusiasm here. He didn't want Warder to show up watching him eat like Bombur the Dwarf then run off to Lond Col to tell Lady Eressild Beren hadn't been dropped by in a while because he got too fat to sit a horse. "I'll have apples with caramel sauce and..." His voice trailed off, observing the beverage options. Somehow every word vanished from the menu in his mind's eye except the ones listed as alcoholic. Mead....elderberry wine.... He was trembling a little, taking deep breaths. Nessa hadn't budged. He couldn't order that junk with his healer standing beside him. If Lossarnach gossip travelled faster than Luisa, she would know he had been binge drinking. "I'll take a cinnamon spiced tea," Beren told Isys in a hoarse voice and forced a ridiculously painful grin at Nessa. He was fortunate Morana wasn't here.
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

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Ilisys Azrubêl
(Wo)Manning the Bar

She was stood, reciting the words on the wall and trying to recall if they were the same words Pele had given her, when that voice expressed what difficulty they were facing. It was not the voice that would have her doubt all thoughts that she ever entertained. His name was Warder and he was not here. It was in fact Pele, her co-conspirator. Ilisys followed the sound into the makeshift kitchen, and beheld the small culinary kingdom that the cook was building up. “You speak as though we have never done this before,” she noted, which would make sense, for they had not. So it did not. “Cadil is a renowned peeler of potatoes,” she recalled, helpfully. Idly helping herself to a snack of vegetable peelings, the woman of Belfalas removed all but one pan from the stove, to answer Pele’s question. Presumably. Or perhaps because she felt it looked best that way. Satisfied, somehow, she idled back out to the bar, and faced their first customer (not counting the mice already mentioned).

A woman with flaming hair was settling herself upon a stool as Isys played her reflection, not particularly well, but with enthusiasm; smiling just as Vipsania smiled. “Tea. Yes. Tea is very good to warm you up,” she agreed, her own grey eyes glistening like dew, the pale fingers of one hand buffing the smooth silver sheen of a wide-set bracelet on her other forearm. “So I should. Make that,” she realised, “and mead. Pele, one bowl of beef and honey cakes,” she trilled merrily over one shoulder. “I don’t know your name,” she realised, aloud, and blinked rather expectantly at the young woman. The drink supplies were on a low table behind her, she realised, and turned to concoct the ordered elixirs.

Soon another pretty and well-dressed lady had entered, with the sort of hair that Isys’s mother would properly respect. “Nessa, how lovely,” she greeted the kindly healer. “I am Ilisys, or Isys, and this is .. ” she halted before Vipsania and produced “tea,” The steaming infusion was one she certainly could manage, boasting a generous cinnamon stick to stir, with just a dash of honey to add flavour to the amber brew. The Mead she would find fresh for the gentleman imagined. If he proved to not be merely of imagination. And if the mead did prove to in fact be what he wished for.

Dear Pele’s hands are in the kitchen already. Would you like to see ?” A subtle flourish gave way to a grand gesture, prompting with both hands to direct Nessa to their mutual friend. “Would you have a drink ?” she remembered to ask, a little belatedly, before waving at some small faces pressed up against the window.


Do you see them too ?” she asked of Beren, before recognising the Ranger. “You know,” she ushered him to lean closer and confided “With charm and ruggedness like that, one might mistake you for a gentleman.” The opinion was not rudely meant, and indeed there was a greater evolved smile on the lady’s face. Even as she accepted his generous contribution, and remembered their time on a recent mission outside of the city. “I intend to keep you on your feet, milady,” she promised him with an over-exaggerated wink. “All the contributions are solely for the widows and orphans charity. I donated my wardrobe. And the clothes within,” she laughed. Some who knew her not might imagine it was a joke. But she was likely quite genuine about the claim.

Apples with elderberry wine sauce, if you please, Pele” she peeked her head into the kitchen. “I can make tea,” she beamed, as the man concluded his hesitant order. “Do not look so worried,” she laughed, and then informed the younger man behind Camlost that

you are late sir !
Last edited by Ercassie on Tue Dec 29, 2020 1:16 am, edited 1 time in total.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Unalmis Raxëlilta and Ilisys Azrubêl

Late ? Late for what ?Unalmis recoiled from where he’d crashed into the heavy counter and nodded a silent greeting to the ladies present. He was not surprised to find the other man surrounded by pretty women, but he was distracted enough by Beren’s expression, to miss when Isys answered him.

Something I am sure,” with a knowing glance which lasted. As long as it took her to recall she ought be making more drinks. “Pele needs you,” the Lady Ranger mentioned, airily, throwing her head sidelong toward the kitchen.

Recalling the Master Healer’s recent anger at his idle recklessness, Nal laid a hand on Camlost’s shoulder and relayed a message. “I am to tell you, my father is locking up for the night, but he and Narradir shall be along shortly.


Moments later, having danced around Ilisys to enter the kitchen, the young man found Pele and tapped her on the shoulder from behind.

Well, what do you need, Pele ?” he wondered, helping himself to a potato, tossing it once into the air with one hand, and then dropping it back to the table, hastily. It might pay to at least look like he was paying attention to what she would say.

Isn’t he generous to offer his assistance, Pele ?” the ‘bar wench’ threw merrily from where she spied, one eye upon her own concoction. A second infusion of tea was provided, this time to Beren, as Nal closed his stunned mouth and pointed out. “She is the one who needs help. Mixing up the orders good and proper !

Do not smoke this,Ilisys warned Beren, obliviously, as she handed him the cinnamon stick, with a drop to curtsey that graced her petticoat to the floor.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Berrik and "Dina"

He hadn't expected an answer from the little girl and as per usual he got none. He had long since stopped being offended when she didn't reply, mostly talking to her to push away the silence. If it were not for the fact that he often heard her talking in her sleep, he would have thought she was a mute. Though there still was a big part of him that hoped that she would one day answer him.

"Right, wish me luck then.." he said with a forced laugh and turned to head in to the newly opened inn, almost bumping in to the young woman and girl standing right behind him.

"Wooah there!" He said as his hands rose defensively as if afraid he was going to be accused of deliberately trying to attack them. Balancing back onto his heels, he shuffled a couple of feet backwards, almost tripping over the crate that Dina was on. Grabbing at the wall to steady himself, he muttered a curse under his breath, eyes going wide at the thought of the other girls having heard it.

With his face going a bright red, he started stammering "C-can I help? I didn't mean to b-barge into you like th-that. Pardon my words.." Flustered he slid a hand into his dishevelled hair in an attempt to get the curly locks to obey, his eyes having trouble staying on the pretty young woman before him.

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Vipsania and Ystr

She took the tea in her hands, cupping her palms over the warm ceramic cup and felt the warmth seep into her. One of the most amazing sensations one could feel on a cold winter’s day was a warm liquid toasting your insides. Vipsania inhaled the sweet, aromatic scent of the tea, enhancing her sensory experience then took a small sip. Her lips curled in pleasure and her muscles began to unwind, unknot, and relax into her seat. “That is excellent tea,” she winked. “You can call me Vipsania,” she dipped her head as a makeshift curtsy. “It’s good to meet you Ilisys!” She began to stir the tea absently with the cinnamon. “And this great lunk,” she said as soon as Ystr made his way into the inn, “is my long suffering, overworked and underpaid bodyguard: Ystr. Ystr, this is Ilisys, the proprietor.” The giant young man looked poleaxed, his eyes wide as dinner plates. He was just in the process of brushing ice off his cloak when Vipsania gave him a several look of disapproval. “I… uh, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.” He bowed low, if a bit awkwardly and moved to stand behind Vipsania.

“What are you doing?!” She turned and snipped at him. “Don’t stand behind me like a giant bear about to attack. Sit. Eat. I ordered you a mead and a bowl of stew. Honestly, Ystr.” The redhead rolled her eyes and took another sip of the tea. “This is really good tea!” she complimented again.

Ystr, browbeaten and obedient, took the seat next to her and began to shovel spoonfuls of stew into his mouth. He perked up a little with each bite though, taking a large quaff of the sweet honeyed wine. “This is very good,” he looked up and said to no one in particular, but most because he had no idea who he was supposed to be complimenting. He assumed there was a chef in the back somewhere (his own wife was a chef of some renown) but they were likely very busy now as a surge of people seemed to have entered the inn all at once. Ystr tensed, Vipsania could see him surveying each of the individuals that came in, looking for the vaguest hint of a threat.

“Would you relax?” She put a hand on the massive man’s arm, causing him to jump. Some of the liquid in his cup sloshed over the edge and splattered on the countertop. “Ystr! You need a vacation!” She said in an admonishing tone. If you’re going to try and pick a fight with anyone that walks in the door you might as well go home.” She eyed him up and down, a look of matronly disapproval on her face that she had learned from her mother. “You can either sit and enjoy yourself,” she looked beyond Ystr’s slouched form and back into the kitchen, “or you can make yourself useful and go help in the kitchen. I’m sure they can find something for you to do.”

He grumbled, looking crestfallen. “But your mother… but Zoë… as you wish Miss,” he looked defeated, his face reminded Vipsania of a cornered badger. He took another drink of the mead, smacking his lips like a contented child then stood up, awkwardly hovering about the counter waiting for someone to notice him and ask what he needed.

Vipsania watched him with a cat like grin behind her tea cup sipping the warm liquid slowly until decided Ystr had been tortured enough. “You’re going to have to get someone’s attention. Come on, now.”

“I…” he coughed and shuffled his feet. “Excuse Miss Ilisys? I… was… wandering if you had any kitchen chores you might need done. I’m supposed to be watching Miss Vipsania but she’s likely to rip my ears off if I hover about too much.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Nessa on a mission to help a Byronic Hero get his act together


Of all the places in all the world in which Nessa would be glad to (literally) bump into Beren Camlost, an Inn that had temporarily sprung in the first circle of Minas Tirith was not the one she would choose. However, perhaps a meeting at an inn (crossroads optional) should have been expected, she mused while she observed her obstinate patient who had been avoiding the Houses of Healing like the plague for quite some time. He quickly apologised and tried to hide his discomfort about seeing her there, by being his usually dangerously charming self. However, Nessa had noticed that he was not in a good place. Aileen mentioned her father’s recent bout of brooding melancholy and increased drinking in her letters to Nessa and Morana. Which prompted Morana’s cantankerous, one could almost say venomous, reply “If he does not get his shire together soon, I swear to you that I am going to delightfully and gleefully familiarise him with the world of a court eunuch!”. And the dotorésa was being unusually polite. Still, the Senensis scion was worried about one of her Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know men.

She watched him silently, half concerned and half-amused, as he spoke with Lady Isys. She smiled when he offered a substantial donation for the widows and orphans charity fund (that was gratefully accepted) and managed in time to stop a very unladylike snort at his offer to cover her meal. An arched eyebrow was the only comment he received for that suggestion. Her quiet presence must have acted as a conscience to him while he struggled for control of himself. Because of Aileen’s letter she was well aware that he would like nothing more than to drown whatever was currently troubling him in alcohol (preferably of high quality, but she suspected that even cheap moonshine would do) but refrained because of her presence. As he settled for cinnamon-spiced tea and gave her a rather pained grin, the unladylike snort from before threatened to make a reappearance. Her lips twitched as she thought of the colourful variety of snarky comments that Morana would likely heap on him before hitting him over the head and unleashing a torrent of Pelagriri profanities. The healer’s time with the buccaneers and her work in Pelargir’s Houses of Healing during the War only enhanced her already abundantly rich vocabulary and creative use of profanities.

“It’s good to see you, Beren,” she settled on saying (“at last” being left unspoken) while Lady Isys poked her head in the kitchen to give his order to Pele. “Aileen wrote to us,” she said quietly referring to herself and Morana. She saw him wince slightly and continued speaking her tone serious. “We’re worried about you Beren.”

Further remarks on the subject from both sides were cut short by the arrival of Addhor’s son (Unalmis), and Nessa discretely moved aside so she could, at least, give the two the illusion of privacy while they talked. Although, she didn’t get the impression that the young man was in any way, shape or form bothered by where she was standing, or even if she was listening in or not. Granted she didn’t know Addhor’s son at all, so she couldn’t judge if he would exercise more caution if he needed to speak to Beren about a more serious matter than passing on a message from his father.

Which led her to once again consider the man in front of her. An inn wasn’t an ideal place to discuss his condition, however, due to his stubborn avoidance of their meetings in the Houses of Healing an inn it would be. As Lady Isys brought him the concoction that definitely smelled like cinnamon-spiced tea a decision was made.

“Lady Isys, would you be so kind to make me a cup of tea while I keep our gentlemen adventurer company?” she asked the ranger turned barmaid for the night. “You are encouraged to go heavy-handed with the spices,” she said with a smile before turning to Beren. “And if you’re quite done with your attempts of flirting with the Lady ranger,” she teased him. “You can regale me with your latest adventures childe. You’ll find a most attentive audience in me. And perhaps,” she paused for dramatic effect. “By the time Addhor comes to your rescue, you might even find the courage to explain why have you been avoiding our meetings? That would be lovely don’t you think? Shall we?” she asked gesturing to a table with some mismatched chairs in the corner of the inn.

Hannah and Ellin, outside with Berrick and Dina

After mistress Nessa relayed her instructions, Ellin took her hand and tugged her toward the children. For once her charge was at least attempting to walk in a sedate pace instead of rushing into another adventure. It’s not that Hannah minded when Ellin was happily running into a new adventure, in fact, she gladly joined the excitement. However, the White City was not Pelargir, whose streets, alleyways and canals she knew like the back of her hands. She still hadn’t quite mastered the spiralling avenues of Minas Tirith so she preferred the slower approach to her exploring.

However, this time the swiftness (or lack of it) of their stride had no significant effect on what happened when the boy (Berric) turned and headed to the entrance of the inn. He would have bumped into them, or they into him if he hadn’t reacted quickly. He rocked on his heels, moved backwards and his hand grabbing the wall to steady himself. She placed a hand on Ellin’s shoulder, gently warning her not to blurt out an inappropriate comment on the boy’s language.

“It’s quite alright, no harm done,” she told the boy with an apologetic smile. “I apologise for startling you. My name is Hannah, and this is Ellin,” she said gesturing to her charge.
“We walked over here to ask you if I can play with your sister?” Ellin chimed in looking at the boy with hope in her eyes.
“Only if she wants and if she’s allowed to,” Hannah added quietly.
“I know,” Ellin replied not taking her eyes off the girl’s brother. “Mum also said to tell you that you can come in and get something to eat,” she continued, the words rushing out of her. “She’s a really good cook, almost as good as tante Rihannon…”
“Ellin!” Hannah exclaimed felling her cheeks going red. “I’m so sorry!” she apologised again with a helpless shrug.
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Pele, busy cooking

As the people started flocking into their hastily opened establishment, Pele found her hands full, trying to make sure the food would be ready for the customers.

"Cadil would definitely be of some use here," she responded, as she watched Isys remove most of the pots. "Though I have not really seen him around that much, so no idea where he hangs out so that he could be fetched..." Truth be told, she would rather have him here doing the chores, as the rumours she had heard about him indicated that the youth was wasting his life away uselessly.

Beef stew... and then honey cake... Pele quickly looked into the boiling pot, and then removed the biscuit from the oven to make it into a cake with a whole wealth of rich cream between the layers of biscuit. "Apples with what?" she then asked, lifting her head to look at Isys who was already gone to fix up more tea, no doubt.

It appeared that if she couldn't get Cadil, she could at least get Nal, as the young man approached her. "What do I need? Lots of things," she responded, and thought of what exactly she could entrust to this youngster that he could do without making a mess or causing trouble.

"Well, you could peel more vegetables; wash the dishes; or... maybe help Isys by brining out the ordered food," she listed the available options to Nal, and then chuckled quietly. "Well, it's not like she gets it too wrong, and since there is no elderberry wine sauce, apples with caramel sauce it will be."
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Berrik and "Dina"

"Sister?" He queried with confusion, until it dawned on him they were talking about Dina."Oh! 'Dina'? Uh..we.. she isn..." He stopped abruptly as his eyes feel on Dina, seeing the look on her face. Coughing slightly he made an attempt to change direction. "I uh.. guess so..?" He said as he looked for an answer on Dina's face, though could not see if she was for or against it. This was a new one for both of them, no one had ever come up and asked if they could play. Not that he played anymore. But no one came to ask that of Dina either, everyone always steering clear of them, or being herded away by over-protective parents.

"Uh.. just don't touch the dolly, she does not like anyone touches that. Oh and don't be offended that she doesn't answer, she doesn't speak.." Berrik scratched at his hair, feeling out of his depth with the request, though immediately brightened up when Ellin told him that they would be welcome to the food inside. Normally he would be offended that anyone would think them beggars, but the growling in his empty belly had taught him not to worry too much about it. Food was food. And if they could get a hot meal, then he was not going to alienate the ones offering it.

"Oh, I am Berrik.. Pleased to meet you!" Grinning at how flustered Hannah was at Ellin's comment, he extended his hand towards Hannah, though immediately yanked it back when he saw how dirty it was. "Sorry.. um.. maybe we should head inside, might be a bit warmer in there than out here?" He looked ready to crawl into a hole and hide, shifting about nervously and wiping his hands furiously on his tattered trousers.

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Ilisys and Unalmis

The young lady did not have an imaginary friend at all, it turned out, as Ystr turned up. Even more astoundingly, Ilisys appeared to have managed good tea for Vipsania, with compliments lending a pink rose to her usual ivory cheeks. The Proprietor bowed very solemnly before the seemingly flustered bodyguard in return to his own, and marvelled as he set about his refreshment as though she had no clue how it had come to be provided.

You have brought your own entertainment,” she observed, as the redhead struggled to see her shadow relax. “Would you like to provide some entertainment, Ystr ?” the lady Ranger draped her extensive sleeve across the counter and mopped up what had been spilt there. “I am out of hot water,” she then lamented, as though she might magically resolve that dilemma. Or test whether the man had as much initiative as he had obedience.

I had one of those,Ilisys whispered, loudly enough to be heard over the clatters coming from the kitchen. “Whatever would we do without them ?” she mused, in a peace come from discovering something in common with the customer. She knew where Warder was, of course, and why he had not come to support their pub venture. Whether it was worth his absence, she would have to wait and see what came, if anything, of the pointed suggestion she had offered to the Squire.

A request come from Nessa distracted her from seeking to pat Vipsania’s hand in friendship. “Somebody’s in trouble,Ilisys noted in a singsong, of the adventurer, though she never laid eyes upon Beren to confirm he as the muse for her tune. “Tea. The tea is good,” she assured his healer, waiting for the hot water fairy, she commenced filling, rather enthusiastically, an earthenware mug with spices.


I could,Unalmis agreed, considered the options Pele had outlined, and dutifully picked up the nearest, sharpest knife that he could find to begin peeling some vegetables. Where it came to choices, the most dangerous was always the most appealing of course. “Do you wish the apples peeled too ?” he wondered, considering the orders. Beren he was sure, he had heard ordering apples ..

Risking a glance back out to the bar, the young Ranger tried to catch a glimpse of the goings on, around the frame of an enormous man who had entered the pub (Ystr). Privacy was not a quality Nal had much patience for, and concern had stamped it’s heavy foot across the young man’s thoughts when he’d heard Nessa state that she was ‘worried’ about Camlost. Hopefully the news of associates on the horizon, he hoped might reassure both the hero and the latest woman who was seeking to draw him to private table.

The intent to better understand quite what could render the jovial giant so morose, without asking, of course, almost cost Nal a finger, as he persevered with the knife where there was no more vegetable to be peeled. Somehow the reality of there being so many healers around seemed an awfully good idea all of a sudden. “Is anything ready to go out there yet ?” he asked Pele, meaning of course, whether there was any reason he might be allowed to do just that himself.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Tarawen

Tarawen pulled her patched and worn cloak tight about her as she descended into the first circle of the city. In truth, she’d survived colder winters than this in Eriador, but something about the change in seasons here in the south made her shiver nevertheless. Her stomach rumbled. The sound was lost in the frequent gusts of air which picked up around her and swirled loose ends out of her long braid and into a rather unkempt mess. A fellow boarder had told her, eyes unfocused with apparently dreamy memories of the food, of a temporary establishment in the first circle being run by two rangers, and so this was where she headed to find both refreshment and some shelter from the wind.

Warm candlelight flickered in the windows of her destination, calling her in from the cold. She strode to the entrance, nodding briefly to a group of youths gathered near to the door, and had just pulled it open when a rush of wind pushed her forward and nearly all the way into the pub. She crossed the threshold of her own volition, shutting out the wind and chill as she entered. Brushing some stray hairs from her face and relishing the slow return of warmth to her fingers, she glanced around. It was a busy night, apparently! Several people were engaged in conversation already, and she could hear a few distinct voices coming from the back - presumably, the kitchens. She made her way to the bar, pausing momentarily to inspect a makeshift White Tree. She smiled at the resourcefulness of the proprietors, then went to place her order.

“Good evening,” she called, waving to the woman behind the bar (Ilisys). Tara glanced at the menu, written in chalk on a wall for all to see. She removed a small coin pouch from her belt and leaned against the bar. “I’ll take a slice of that savory pie, and a mug of mead, please.” She smiled, then went on, “I’ve heard a certain master healer might be tonight’s chef? Is that right?”



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Vorinde

It had been a long time since she'd set foot in Minas Tirith - quite a long time. The last time she had been here, she had left the city with a bad taste in her mouth and resolved not to return unless need drove her. Today, need had indeed driven her right to the city's maw: she was tired, hungry, and in need of company. Traveling the road alone with no one to speak to was almost as bad for Vorinde as going without food. The woman delighted in the telling of tales, the spread of information. She was not a gossip so much as a storyteller, someone who delighted in the sound of her voice rising as she wove a story for eagerly listening ears.

So she stood, cloaked and hooded, before the gates glimmering even in the dull light of a wintry sunset, the delicate sparkles thrown by mithril and steel belying their strength. With a small shake of her head, she passed into the first circle of the city. An old pub had once been housed there, and she was hoping to find it still running. While she did not find what she was looking for, she did come across a rather slapdash establishment that seemed to offer food and drink. And people. She approached, opened the door, and stepped inside.

A small crowd was gathered - much smaller than the crowds she had so often enthralled - but no doubt there was good conversation to be had. She observed with interest the presence of stage and a menu chalked upon the wall before sliding into a vacant seat at an empty table and set her bag aside upon a nearby chair. She pushed the hood of her cloak off her head and shook out dark hair, then removed a book from her bag. Once settled, she eyed the stage more thoughtfully and spotted a sign: “Sing for Your Supper.”

Vorinde opened her book to a page marked with a dog-eared corner, and fixed her dark eyes to the text. She smiled. She would find something good to share, and then she would do as the sign commanded.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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The Kids aka Hannah and Ellin with Berrik and Dina

She frowned slightly seeing the boy’s confusion at Ellin’s question. As the boy (Berrik) faltered over his response, Hannah’s cheeks went from flush to pale as a sheet at the realisation that they might have made the mistake in assuming that the boy and girl were related. She was about to offer him another flustered apology when he coughed and gave his rather uncertain approval. It was followed by a request not to touch Dina’s doll, that had Ellin nodding in understanding. After all, it was a perfectly reasonable request.

When he mentioned that Dina doesn’t speak Hannah couldn’t suppress a grin. Perhaps that wasn’t very ladylike, however, she was no lady… And Ellin was a cheerful and chatty child who didn’t like to stay still. Unless a story was being told; then she would sit and listen, fascinated by what was being told. Mistress Nessa often remarked that Ellin was like her father in that regard. Glancing at an eager Ellin and than at Dina she had no doubt that her charge would talk for the both of them and not mind one bit that the other girl was silent. The girls would find a way to communicate.

As if the boy read her thoughts he introduced himself as Berrik extending his hand to her, and then promptly yanked it back. Hannah’s eyes widened in surprise at his reaction, but then she looked at his clothes and looked down on the gown she was wearing. He probably noticed her nice dress and thought she was some sort of rich girl. She blushed again and then berated herself for it. What was wrong with her today?

“Yes, let’s head inside,” she said after she managed to compose herself somewhat. “You can wash up and then we can get something to eat.”

Ellin eagerly nodded, signalling her agreement with that idea and as they started walking to the door of the inn she faced and started a one-way conversation about food the inn might have. Hannah couldn’t tell if Dina was confused by the chirping girl, but she sincerely hoped that Ellin didn’t scare or overwhelm her.

The warmth of the inn enveloped them as they entered, and she blinked in surprise when she saw there were already so many people there. It wasn’t a crowd by any means, but there were enough people there to make the space feel lively and festive. She searched for mistress Nessa and when she noticed her having a rather serious conversation (at least her mistress looked serious while she spoke) with an unknown gentleman (Beren) she couldn’t keep the surprise of her face. Steering the group away from them, lest Ellin sees, she nudged them over to the bar where a rather cheerful-looking lady (Ilisys) was tending to it.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Hannah tried to get the Lady ranger’s attention. “Can my friends and I wash up somewhere before we have something to eat?”
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Vipsania and Ystr

“Enter…entertainment?” Ystr stuttered, eyes growing wide as dinner plates for a moment. Vipsania smirked as she noticed a blotch of crimson creep up the big man’s neck. If she had been in a less mischievous mood, she would have assured the socially inept bodyguard that this woman was not, in fact, flirting with him and he need not devolve into a mumbling puddle. But she was, and the with the tea warming her insides, she was more than content to watch him struggle. Vipsania wasn’t cruel, but she did like to watch him squirm. It was hard to believe that a man with such grace in a fight had so little when it came to talking. And it wasn’t just women that Ystr seemed unable to communicate with, indeed it seemed to Vipsania that it was everyone he had trouble speaking to. Once, she’d witnessed and entire conversation with his wife, Zoë, in which he did not say a single word (and his wife was not the time to blather on endlessly and obliviously).

“Out of hot water…” Vipsania could see the wheels turning in his mind. He looked to Vipsania whose only response was to delicately sip her tea and sit on the stool as ladylike as her mother had taught her (and she subsequently ignored). Thankfully for the young bodyguard, Ilisys’ attention was diverted elsewhere, and he was no longer under the crack of a whip.

“Ahem?” He looked back down at his ward.

“Y-Yes Miss?” he still looked like a frightened hare.

“She wants you to get some hot water, didn’t you hear her?” Vipsania set the delicate cup down on the counter and placed her hands on her crossed knees. “It’s rude to keep a lady waiting when she’s in need.” She stuck her nose up in the air and give the ceiling a look of longsuffering patience, a perfect imitation of her mother.

“But I thought, wait, did she?” He scrunched his brow in confusion. A snort from Vipsania gave him his answer. He coughed, looking back and forth between Ilisys, the proprietress, and Vipsania, his employer. His breathing was beginning to quickly and Vipsania thought she saw a vein popping out of his neck.

“Oh my goodness!” Vipsania set the teacup down a little harder than she’d intended, resulting in a clatter that made them both cringe a little. “Are you really ask if she needs hot water?”

Hunching his shoulders, Ystr shrugged and looked at the floor, staring so intently that he might have been trying to bore a hole to the roots of the mountain beneath their feet. “I’m sorry, Miss Vipsania. I was told to look after you and, and while I suppose it would be alright if I did a few things here and there I’m, I’m really just supposed to be looking after you.”

“You’re also supposed to do what I tell you,” the young woman corrected. “Now come on. You’re going to make us both look bad. Go get some hot water man!”

He nodded vigorously and shuffled off out the door, then came back immediately realizing he going the wrong way then began milling about looking for the entrance to the kitchen where the hot water was doubtlessly kept. “Scuse me,” he called to the woman working behind the scenes (Pele) in a voice trying too hard to be firm. “Miss Ilisys needs some hot water and I’m to fetch it for her…” he trailed off, unsure whether he was supposed to go back into the sacrosanct kitchen or wait until he was handed over to him.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Isys appreciated Beren's sweet compliment. It had been a long time since a tavern lass ushered him close - actually, any woman, since he behaved himself for a rather impressive while (this was no longer necessary since he was "back on the market" as they said in Bree) - so when the lovely Isys invited him to lean toward her, he was inextricably compelled to draw closer to the Belfalas dame. "With charm and ruggedness like that, one might mistake you for a gentleman. I intend to keep you on your feet, milady." Her cute wink and unexpected humor unleashed something inside of him, the man he used to be. He belted out a merry long-imprisoned laugh. Isys exuded an appealingly winsome selflessness and usually soothed Beren with her serene aura. Her sudden playful demeanor stirred the jovial nature buried beneath a shroud of sadness which smothered him for weeks.

Isys mentioned donating her wardrobe and all its clothes. Beren nearly bursted with laughter again but restrained himself. "What does Lady Eressild think of jettisoning both?" Beren asked innocently but the light in his green eyes and the subtle hint of a roguish smirk betrayed his curious facade. "Is your mother upset you have nothing else to wear now?" The incorrigible rake of Gondor broadened his grin slowly, flourishing his hand at the laundress garb limber Isys borrowed. "I am not dismayed in the slightest by this thrilling revelation, milady," assured Beren with a lingering amorous gaze, speaking with cavalier boldness he was infamously known for. She was a beautiful patrician woman but he spoke in jest; Beren and Isys constantly annoyed each other but it was all in good fun. Beren appeared momentarily nervous when Isys insisted she could make tea. She asked him not to worry, beaming. Beren shrugged. "I can't say no to a pretty smile." He knew this was her first time as a pubmistress; he truly wanted to be supportive for Isys...and treat her like a barmaid she was today for their mutual amusement.

"Fortunately, if something happens to be amiss there is a healer who can save me," said Beren, jerking a thumb at Nessa, "or perhaps put this ole Bear out of his misery." Isys suggested that Beren not smoke the cinnamon sticks she gave him. "Are you speaking from experience, trial and error?" Beren joked with Isys about the smoking, waggling his brows. "Aha!" he snapped his fingers. "Now I know the reason for your eccentricity..." The lady dropped to a curtsey. When Isys stood again, Beren's thumb moved in a soft gliding arc over her cheek in gratitude...which was something he wouldn't normally have done, knowing she preferred not to be touched in such a forward way, being a courtly woman. The effects of the alcohol he drank earlier in the market still had not dissipated completely.... Beren sobered with great swiftness, realizing his terrible trespass, when he noticed the plainly visible displeasure of Isys. He apologized profusely and though he was certain she would forgive him the damage had been done and Beren knew he would have to make it up to her somehow, seek his penance for crossing that line.

Beren was relieved by Nal's comforting clasp upon his shoulder. "Pardon my quietness of late but I've been upset for some time," Beren apologized somberly to Nal, gripping the lad's forearm in fellowship. He glanced away, stirring the cinnamon sticks in the steaming drink. "It's not every day a man like me admits lost causes." He was compelled to speak of losing Nelladel since Nal must have seen him dallying with Isys; he did look presently confused and probably wondered why Beren looked morose. "You're welcome to sit with your father, Narradir, and I. Help the women in the meanwhile." Beren clapped Nal on the back with his strong hand. "Give me a signal when your old man and Narradir show up though I suppose the jailbird might holler for me." Beren snorted laughter and shook his head ruefully. "He wants a drinking contest. I don't want to look like a coward but..." Beren, dispirited, gave Isys a fleeting glimpse which he wasn't sure she noticed or if she overheard him talking to Nal. "I do need to make an earnest effort to quit this addiction. I don't want it sullying my friendships. I'm not yellow, uh cowardly, but it must be the right thing to do."

Beren took a deep breath then gave his counsellor a sheepish grin. His anxiety graduated to higher magnitude when Nessa arched a brow, responding to his gracious offer. Beren hoped his kindness would soften her up but she was professional and wouldn't let him off easy. He knew it was for his own good but he was afraid she would freeze his service to the Crown. Regardless of his chivalrous acts and his friendship with her husband, Turin, she could officially declare him unfit for duty if he was medically compromised. "Keep me?" mumbled Beren, fumbling with the cup Isys gave him. Some of the tea sloshed out but Beren cleaned the rim and the bar's surface with some napkins so Isys wouldn't need to. Beren heard her comment "somebody's in trouble" in a singsong voice; her argent eyes were focused elsewhere but Beren knew viscerally she was speaking of him. "Somebody needs clothes" Beren retorted in mockery with a similar jingly timbre. "My flirtations with Isys will never cease but she is owed a brief respite occasionally, methinks..." Beren gave Isys a sportive wink then came to the table Nessa gestured at. It was carved of lebethron Beren farmed. He took a seat at the mismatched chairs arrayed with it.

Beren dried up at once, blowing on his tea with theatrical fierceness to stall for time. He took a gingerly sip of the tea and flinched. "Just a mite heavy-handed on the spices, m'dear!" Beren shouted at Isys, not unkindly but just to be heard. He made a dimissive wave but not meanly, ensuring her it was alright; she was needed behind the bar. Beren eventually wilted beneath Nessa's powerful withering stare until he finally spoke; she did want to hear a story.

"My last adventure...if that is what you want to call it...was down south a couple months ago," Beren told her. He churned the tea with idle movements of the cinnamon sticks, staring at the lustrous black surface of the lebethron table. This wasn't particularly one of his glorious stories to tell. "I took Paw Company, my small troop of new Rangers, to Harondor. We were to succour one of the fortresses there for a few weeks. When we got to Ost-Narulith, one of our outposts west of the Harad Road, shortly after daybreak we found everyone murdered. A massacre. The Gondorians were butchered outside the wall, stacked like cordwood on the bloody sand. Many we found were mutiliated in the bailey and their severed heads mounted on the battlements. A surprise attack, a night raid....some soldiers, still wearing bedclothes, we discovered hacked apart in their dormitories. Many young men and women were felled in the carnage. Their bodies, a feast for flies and the vultures. We were the first warriors to investigate." Beren's mirth vanished, a lone tear coursed over his luxuriant beard. He looked haunted, grave. His fingers curled around the handle of the teacup trembled, upsetting the liquid. The scalding tea spilled onto his skin but he was so ensconced in the harrowing memory he didn't feel the burning. He tried to speak low, not wanting to draw attention to his morbid story. He didn't want to disturb Nal who might be overhearing and he knew children were present - but Beren didn't realize whether or not his pitch had changed, risen high or descending lower in his macabre narration. "It wasn't Haradrim. Orcs had come. The Rangers had slain some of them and we found carcasses of their great wolves they had ridden to the slaughter."

Beren suddenly jolted in his seat, sucking in his breath as he seized the armrests of his chair, when he heard a random stray hound barking in the street. He rubbed his rugged face, remembering the howling of cruel wargs and the snarling of werewolves he encountered in his journeys. "I took the Paws scouting. We tracked the Orcs across the Harnen Road for a day, ignoring the rain, until we came upon their riverside encampment that foggy night. We annihilated the horde...but not immediately. We repaid them well. You can do a lot with a knife." Brooding Beren, his melancholy visage contorting into a grim menacing countenance, looked into the depths of Nessa's hazel eyes. "Our brutality matched theirs. We were surgical. I wasn't feeling merciful; neither were my boys or my girls. And we found out where they came from, springs in a riverine valley in the southern range of Ephel Dúath." That was enough. Beren said nothing about what they did. How they gathered the pieces of Orcs, piled them in the helmets with the fangs of the wolves, and floated the raft of olivewood to reach the enemy stronghold. He didn't know if Paw Company would tell fellow soldiers what they had done - even most Elven fighters like Aigronding and Tharmáras frowned upon such savagery in battle - but Beren knew he wouldn't divulge word of this sordid deed to even his closest friends. Isys and Warder, Nessa and Addhor...Nal.... he didn't want them to know how low his star could fall. "When I got back home to the farm, a letter was waiting for me and it was not pleasant to read...which is what I need to discuss with Addhor and Narradir. You and I will speak of it at...the healing house."

Beren's vision of Nessa wavered, dimmed by stinging tears. He muttered a curse, brushing at his wet face with his sleeve, sniffled once, and took a deep forced swallow of the tea Isys made. Wished it was a glass of Morthond Shadowstone whiskey. "I'll come back." What was meant to be a fervid promise to Nessa sounded more like a drawling whine. "This letter...it's emasculating talking about, alright?" Beren stuttered and swore under his breath again. He wished he had a fredegar adult drink, shire. "Talking to a woman about this is embarrassing. Varda's stars!" Beren heaved a heavy sigh and smiled wanly, giving Nessa's hand a fleeting pat. "I will return for your counselling. If I'm not there in a fortnight, sic Morana on me."

Beren looked elsewhere, desperate for some means of distraction...and was satisfied when he saw that adorable Ellin, Nessa's little girl, had arrived. She was sprightly chirping lass like Nariel's daughter, Cara. Full of bounce and spirit. Beren loved reading her Bree stories of Miranda Lynn Clementine, nonesense tales and fables of anthropomorphic creatures. He would also sing to her and play his ocarina for Ellie to gracefully dance and hum along to his ethereal tunes. He had the instrument in his pocket. Since an older lass was watching over her and had the child's back turned to her mother, Beren whistled to catch Ellie's notice. He said, "Hey, starshine!" then made a silly face at her, hoping she'd giggle and skip right over.
Last edited by Eriol on Sat Jan 09, 2021 9:06 am, edited 7 times in total.
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

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"Watch those fingers!" Pele called out to Unalmis, when she glanced at him and saw him nearly begin to peel the skin off of his own hand. It seemed that the youngster would not be of much use to her as he could not focus on any one thing for long enough. With an unintelligible mumble Pele turned back to her own tasks, cutting the newly made cake into pieces and placing one on a plate. "If you would peel an apple or two, that would be nice. And... cake is ready." She then checked the boiling pot of stew, drew a bit of it in a spoon and cautiously tasted from it. "Stew. And will fix that sauce in no time. If you want to bring food out."

She was distracted from her food-making efforts by a man's voice from the doorway, asking for hot water. The spoon still in hand Pele turned to face Ystr who seemed to fill the whole doorway with his stature. "Hot water you say? Go ahead and take that bigger pot from the stove, not the smaller one with the stew," she instructed. At any rate she didn't mind to have a pair of strong hands to help with this, as she did not really have the time to take the water out herself. Or did she? Eating the remainder of the stew from the spoon, she set the utensil down on the table.

It was getting very hot in the kitchen, and even though she did not have the time - technically - Pele felt that she needed just a moment to get a bit of less hot air. She stepped out the door, and left the way open for Ystr, placing herself just a step away. The bigger room was definitely not as hot, and she took a few deep breaths, while taking in the crowded room filled both with familiar and unfamiliar faces. Apparently their establishment had gained quite some popularity very quickly.

Quietly, Pele watched and listened, and then stirred. For a passing moment her blue eyes reflected a dangerous glint of steely ice, and only the people who knew her well would catch the brief change and would know what it meant. Yet, as soon as it appeared it was gone, and Pele turned to go back into the kitchen.

"Oh, Isys," she suddenly said, turning to her companion who was busy providing for the customers. "You requested hot water. Any need for cold one as well, perhaps, while at it?" A small grin appeared on her lips, as she added: "Also some food is ready. I might ask Nal to bring it out or something."
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Berrik and Dina

The look on the young man's face had fallen the moment he realised just how dirty his hands were and that he had almost touched the young lady. Sullenly he followed them in, his appetite forgotten for the moment as he stuffed his hands into his pockets as soon as all the girls had entered and he had let go of the door. Dina made sure to stay close to him, though never close enough to touch, but had he been looking he would have seen that she was equally close to the other little girl, Ellin. But he was too preoccupied by trying to swallow his pride as the young lady asked where they could all wash up, his face growing a bright red all the way to the tips of his ears.

Dina on the other hand did not seem to notice his embarassment, hugging her cloth dolly tightly to her, though her blue eyes watched Ellin with unbridled keeness. They barely flicked around the room, before returning to the other young girl, though one might have trouble saying if it was to make sure her dolly would not be taken or because she was fascinated by the chatty girl.

Moving to the far end of the room where there were least people, Berrik stood with his hands still in his pockets and while his mood was foul it was beginning to get harder and harder to stay that way, especially as the warmth of the room started warming his frozen feet. As he waited, slowly but surely he began to loosen up and found himself eyeing all the patrons one at a time.

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Mourgan

Pushing the door open he found himself pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer interior from under the hood of his cloak, the breeze having caught his cloak and caused it to momentarily press tighter to reveal his large frame. He didn't pause long, seeing there were many customers he opted to chose a table near the back. He made his way to it and unclasp his cloak to move it aside when he settled into his seat.
Lowering the cloak revealed a head of dark brown hair that was tied back with a simple leather thong. A strong stubbled chin lead to a straight nose and brown eyes that had seen more then anyone of twenty years should. Strong shoulders shrugged off the cloak and he looked up to read the menu that had be drawn with chalk.
The stew sounded like it would hit the spot and he would need a mead to wash it down. Momentarily he rethought that last bit. Mead. He shouldn't but then what harm could one tankard do?
He rest his arms on the table and leaned into them, waiting for an oppurtunity to order...
Isolde Alarion/Rohan~Nelladel Alarion/Gondor~Mourgan Alarion/Gondor ~ Dahak/ Umbar ~ Relic RIP

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Vipsania and Ystr

Letting Ystr do his work, Vipsania closed her eyes and sipped the tea. She’d had tea a hundred times but the atmosphere had always been a stuffy and proper, full of ladies trying to be so delicate they rivaled the teacups in terms of brittleness. Vipsania hated the droll ceremony and ritual of tea drinking with rich old ladies, eternally clambering over each other for their momentary favor. And the tea was always flavorless, tepid, cloyingly sweet, and very over steeped. She shook her head, ridding her mind of the images. She much preferred this environment. The tea was better, rich and flavorful with just enough sweetness to counteract the natural bitterness of the tea. She could feel her bones warming and her muscles relaxing. The company was better here too, the bustle and hustle of day to day life, the myriad conversations going on, overlapping one another until the buzz and hum created a calming, sedative effect. There was a man in the corner that seemed to be having an episode of PTSD but before Vipsania could do anything (not that she actually had any idea what to do) another person (a healer maybe?) swooped in to help. Vipsania went back to sipping her tea. She didn’t want to appear calloused, but she also didn’t want to stick her nose into business that didn’t need her either. She sipped her tea and let her mind wander. At some point she was going to take a trip out of the city. Her mother and father wouldn’t approve of course, but they would let her; they gave up trying to control her movements years ago. With Ystr perpetually in tow they though she was safe. Now if only she could convince them to stop trying to arrange a marriage with some shipping magnate’s third son or some country noble’s nephew that would be grand.

Meanwhile, Ystr was having a much less relaxing time. Whenever he was in a kitchen, any kitchen, he felt as though he was out of place and that one wrong move would likely result in the destruction and ruination of every appliance and plate in the vicinity. He did not have the graceful, purposeful movements of his wife and, with his size, felt very much like the aurochs in the china shop. “Big pot on the stove you said, ma’am?” He nodded to her and glanced back in the corner of the kitchen. There was indeed a large black kettle on the stove, flames wisping along the outside like hungry salamanders. He noticed the smaller one beside it, and noticed the savory aroma coming from it as well. His stomach gurgled in an autonomic response. With his mind too focused on food, Ystr grabbed the edges of the cauldron. “SWEET MOTHER OF THE MOUNTAIN!” he yelped, water sloshing in the pot and over the lip. He fanned his hand wildly about, swearing and cursing under his breath. “Damned fool idiot,” he muttered to himself. “Zoë’d kill you if you did that in her kitchen. Pele would be right to do the same, you blubber doof.” He continued chiding himself until he found a towel with which he could wrap the handle and carry the water out without more risk to his idiot person. “Thank you, ma’am,” he called to Pele as he shuffled out of the kitchen, a large kettle of water already beginning to strain his muscles as he held it out as far from his body as he could manage without looking like a weirdo. He re-entered the common room of the match shift in and began looking for the lady who was apparently his employer for the day to see what she wanted with the water.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Ilisys

Another arrival, and another request for PeleIlisys was beginning to think she ought to have put her friend on the menu, she was so sought after this evening !

You are right,” she afforded Tarawen, as though having understood the term for the customer’s name. “And I shall let her know of course,” she vowed, of the woman’s request for refreshment. Mead, pie, and she still had at least another tea to see to .. But Nessa who had professed want to lend the cook a hand, had become entangled with Beren en route. A timely distraction though, while the healer awaited her drink. Glancing about, the lady of Belfalas found that Ystr had at least made his way to the kitchens. Hopefully the hot water would find it’s way to her hands soon enough to keep things flowing.

Isys was still not clear why Camlost might imagine she only possessed one wardrobe full of clothes. Still the recollection of her plan, as Warder tried to keep tabs on her while more than a dozen young women were now walking about the city dressed in her usual garb .. did bring a smile to the woman’s face, as she imagined her exasperated squire's. She had just cast a thoughtful glance back to Vipsania, when Isys’s smile sharpened to a shock at the Ranger’s unwarranted touch. Whatever had seemed to cloud Beren’s mood had dissipated swiftly as he fell headfirst into heavy-handed flirtations. If it was an effort to convince Nessa that he was fine, it would not last long, for she was certainly not fine – nor accustomed – to even glancing touch, unasked for, by any man. The Ranger was fortunate that Nal’s arrival had diverted him, else all the healers who were in the Inn would not save his pretty smile once she was done with him ! She was already thinking on planting a cinnamon stick up one of the man’s nostrils.

Ach !!” she bid him, as a mother might scold their infant for picking up something they ought to not. One index finger raised, and targeted his brow, until Nessa took him to a table out of way.

A saviour’s pie and another friend to see you PeleIsys turned, and trilled, before realising the other Ranger had come out to speak to her and was closer than she’d imagined. They were nurturing something of a full house tonight ! A quiet woman who had stowed herself away about the place had leant eyes to their stage, and Ilisys smiled. She had wondered a time if she might have to mastermind her own means of entertainment tonight. But she did not rush the latest turn-up, for some surely had come for the warmth as much as any else they could provide them. There was time. And she was patient. She could bide that time.

At Hannah’s request, Isys met Pele’s smart eye and smiled back. She whispered at her friend’s ear, quite conspiratorial, and then would have the children made welcome. “We shall find you some nice water to make dirty,” she invited them with a truly innocent expression. “Go with Pele there,” she suggested, standing aside so that they were able, while she searched the eyes of the young man Berrik. One hand raised to her cheek though, which she touched, tentative, with her own fingers this time, as though it had been recently burned. Before realising she could still pour mead out for Tarawen, while she waited for what else she required.



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Unalmis



Unalmis narrowly skimmed the skinning of his finger, as Pele called for him to be more careful. His mind was elsewheres. He would be lucky to find any time to sit with Beren, Narradir and his father, with all that the kitchen required. That said, Camlost deciding to skip out on Narradir’s drinking contest might have been the wisest thing that the man had said all evening. Beren would have been green instead of yellow, for he’d certainly been bedecked in an aroma of alcohol already. Nal had grown up with that scent about the house, and if he knew it well, he could recognise even more well the signs of efforts taken to hide it.

Having finished peeling the vegetables, he stopped throwing them across the room in efforts to land them in the pan of waiting hot water. For some reason, Pele didn’t look too pleased at this ingenious time-saving plan, even though he’d got at least half of them in the pot ! He turned toward the apples, trying to emulate the skill he’d seen Ilisys showcase on their last mission, in peeling the entire fruit in one single strip. His efforts didn’t quite come up to par, and he was trying not to wonder where she had gained so much practice with knives, as he was handed some honey cakes by Pele, which were ready, apparently.

Making an exchange with her for the now readied fruit, he was startled when a large man who had come for fetching water quite erupted just behind the young Ranger. Giving a wide berth to Ystr, who was now muttering to himself, Unalmis fled the kitchen to offer the plate of cakes to the attractive redhead. Ilisys bade him not dawdle, as she grandly directed the giant and his hot water to her counter. She would have tea soon for Nal to take over to Nessa. The young man already looked to be distracted however, as he recognised a colleague come and brooding over the menu.

I would go for the mead,” he advised Mourgan. “Definitely safer,” he confided, as he watched Ilisys pour from a prepared bottle of mead, for the woman at the bar (Tarawen). She then began drowning her cup of spices toward some effort of tea for Nessa.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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At the exclamation of surprise from Ystr, Pele looked at him trying to tackle the pot with his bare hands and shook her head; but at least it seemed that there was not much harm done either to the big man, or the pot. She watched him bring the pot out, and said nothing about the mishap she had witnessed.

"Ah, I suppose enjoying the company of friends might have to wait," Pele said to Isys. "There's so much to do still..." In fact, she was not sure if she'd get to relax a bit at all, seeing how many people they had here. Maybe once everyone received their food and drink, and if no new patrons arrived for a while.

As she leaned in to listen to Isys' whispers, her blue eyes danced with restrained laughter and mischief, something that occurred only seldom these days. "Well, I'll see what I can do about it," she said aloud.

"Come, I'll fix you something to get your hands clean so you can enjoy a meal," Pele said to Hannah when Isys had directed the children to follow her. Stepping back into the kitchen, she took one of the buckets of water and put it in the corner next to the door with a bar of soap and a towel next to it. "Here. Just make sure to wash your hands carefully with soap so that the towel does not become soiled," she instructed the children, and then half-seriously, half-jokingly turned to Hannah: "I put you in charge of making sure all hands are sparkling clean, and that the towel doesn't need to be tossed out after!" That done, she turned her attention back to seeing whether she could get any of the ordered food sorted.
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Nessa sitting down at a table (in public) with a Byronic hero, their interaction causing le gasps and the clutching of pearls


There was a marked contrast between the jocular Beren who teased and flirted with Lady Isys (although the Lady was not amused by his dalliance and did not react the way he had perhaps expected her and/or wanted her to react) and the sombre man who walked over to the table, took one of the mismatched chairs and sat opposite her. Nessa observed him, cataloguing the myriad of differences that had made a mark on him from the last moment they talked until now. Aileen was rightfully worried, the healer thought with a heavy heart as the brooding man attempted to stall for time by fidgeting with his mug and blowing on the hot liquid in an attempt to cool it. As he took a sip and flinched, her lips curled upward into an amused smile. Apparently, the hot-blooded Byronic hero was not overly fond of spicy food and drink, and he made his preferences known to the not so amused Lady ranger turned bartender. Nessa smiled fondly watching their interaction.

With a hint of that fond smile still on her face, she moved slightly in the chair, adjusting her posture, aware that they were in public and had already attracted curious glances. Addhor’s son might have thought he was being inconspicuous, but the lad had much to learn in the art of discretion. It was well-meant, Nessa was sure of it, but what might be overlooked when a man was in question would not be so easily tolerated when a woman was concerned. Especially a married woman, currently unaccompanied by her husband, sitting in a secluded corner (how secluded a table at an inn could be was always opened to interpretation) talking to a man of a certain reputation.

Turin knew that Beren was her patient, she did not keep secrets from her husband, despite not being at liberty to say the reason why Beren was seeing her (or rather supposed to be seeing her) in the Houses of Healing. However, she neither needed nor wanted idle gossip about her spreading around the White City and reaching the ears of her husband, friends and family. Most people were not aware that the post War years had been difficult for her and Turin, and their unintended separation put an additional strain on their relationship. For the past year, both of them had worked hard on repairing their marriage. The trust and respect they had for one another and most of all the love between them (always the love between them) helped them come to terms with all the trials and tribulations they went through. It came at a great cost, but it was a price they were both more than willing to pay. Nevertheless, gossip would spread, such was the nature of things.

Still, it was best not to poke and prod too much at the wasps’ nest that was Minas Tirith’s gossip circle. Or circles seeing as the White City itself had 7 of them. None of these thoughts and concerns reflected on her face as she watched Beren who was also troubled by his thoughts. He swirled the hot liquid in his cup with a cinnamon stick, his gaze was fixed on the dark and smooth surface of the lebethron table. Something weighed heavily on his mind, she could see that clearly from his behaviour and posture. He seemed to her like a man who somehow sleepwalked or stumbled to the crossroads in a fog and was uncertain which path to take. She sat across from him in comfortable silence, something that came quite naturally to her, patiently waiting for him to speak.

When he finally did speak, he managed to surprise her. She had expected him to evade and deflect by telling her a funny story, or embellish his latest heroics courtship that might or might involve him being slapped one too many times because he was behaving like an idiot. Although, he would most certainly say he was being a perfect gentleman and had not deserved such mistreatment. He wasn’t the type of person who would easily open up to someone, to show how vulnerable he really was. Perhaps, all things considered, she shouldn’t have been surprised that the story he chose to tell her was a grim one. He was troubled by it, and the need to speak of this burden to her, his councillor and someone he trusted, was stronger and outweighed his reluctance to show vulnerability to her and the unsuitability of the inn for such conversations.

It was like a dam broke, words suddenly rushing out from him, unleashed from their chains. This memory was relentless, holding him in its claws, gripping him tightly, almost choking him. It demanded that the story be told. Resistance was futile, there was nothing he could do but tell it, and she could not distinguish if he had no control over his choice of words or he simply could not find the energy to choose his words with care. She could not suppress a shiver as he described the scene of the massacre at the fort, his descriptions of the horrors he had witnessed detailed and precise… As he spoke “mutilated (…) severed heads mounted on the battlements (…) still wearing bedclothes (…)” her mind conjured and depicted these scenes in vivid detail. She was no stranger to blood, she knew well the sight, smell and taste of it. She was a healer who had seen and experienced first hand the horrors of War…

These things were not unknown to her, although people could not tell that by looking at her dressed as she was in an elegant wine coloured dress (the colour of blood) and holly woven in her hair. Still, she was shaken to the core as he continued “hacked apart in their dormitories (…) their bodies, a feast for flies and vultures (…)”. She tried to push the images away by narrowing her focus on Beren, watching his reactions. The trembling of his hands and how his body tensed in a fight or flight reflex before jolting in his seat at the sound of a dog barking in the street. Soldier’s heart, the healers of old had named the state that plagued him, but soldiers weren’t the only ones affected by this condition…

When he placed his hands on the table again Nessa reached out to touch him, propriety be damned! Let them gossip, let them talk if they so wished. Dam them all to Udûn! Beren was her patient, her friend, someone who needed her help and so she reached out with her slender fingers and gently held his hand in comfort, in support. It was the smallest of things she could do for him here and she hoped he understood. She could curse society and propriety to Udûn and back, but Irene de Argosy raised no fool. She could not tell if Beren was aware of this, his mood changed like quicksilver and with it his tone.

“I took the Paws scouting. We tracked the Orcs across the Harnen Road for a day, ignoring the rain, until we came upon their riverside encampment that foggy night. We annihilated the horde… but not immediately. We repaid them well. You can do a lot with a knife.”

His words loosened like arrows that could not be called back. His green eyes locked on her hazel ones. She went rigid, paralysed by what he said. The words he used… “You can do a lot with a knife” echoing in her mind. The way he said this, the way he looked at her at that moment. She could not move, her breath suspended… This was not the Beren she knew. He was a complex man, a kaleidoscope of personalities – an outrageous flirt, a loyal friend, a mercurial Byronic hero… Many different complex and messy things, but always a good man… Above all things a good man, she reminded herself. She didn’t know this side of him and the image he allowed her to see shook her. She struggled to come to terms with this, to reconcile the image of a knight he tried so hard to present (to be) with this new image he allowed her to glimpse, the one of a berserker. Meanwhile, he continued seemingly unaware of the effect his words had on her. “Our brutality matched theirs. We were surgical. I wasn’t feeling merciful; neither were my boys or my girls. And we found out where they came from, springs in a riverine valley in the southern range of Ephel Dúath.”

He stopped suddenly, perhaps aware that he had said too much… She was hyperaware of everything around her. Of the glances not so subtly cast their way, of her hand touching his, how still and rigid she still was, how haunted and devastated he looked. His sudden silence that spoke louder than words… Her mind conjuring horrific images based on his descriptions, her imagination running wild by his silence… The fact that she was still holding her breath and that if she didn’t want to faint there and cause an uproar she needed to force herself to breathe… She exhaled, the breath rushing out of her mouth seemed louder than the rush and thunder of the Falls of Rauros.

She needed to breathe, to calm and centre herself so she could think clearly. “Face the facts,” the memory of Quintus de Scardena’s voice came vividly to mind. “Then act on them. It’s the only mantra I know, the only doctrine I have to offer you, and it’s harder than you think, because I swear humans are determined to do anything but.*” The memory of her mentor’s impromptu lecture in the study of the Houses of Healing, while she was still his apprentice, helped her and (as always) guided her. Quintus de Scardena was an unconventional healer and mentor, but he was a wise man.

Nessa took a deep breath, thankful for the silence between them that gave both of them time to collect their thoughts. Or face the facts in her case. She knew this wasn’t over, that there was more to this than he was prepared to tell her. Perhaps it was the moment and the place, for Beren looked surprised himself with the number of things he confessed to her. In words and in silences, with his eyes and body language. She too was aware of the story she told him, not in words, but with her actions. Her facial expressions, the adjustment of her posture as they sat down on the table, her hand reaching out to touch his in comfort and still there, her paralysis and shock as his words “You can do a lot with a knife.

Nessa looked at him and faced the fact, trying to come to terms with what she knew and what she learnt. She was not a person prone to making decisions on the spot. She tended to be careful and preferred to think things through, although sometimes (perhaps more times than she’d like to admit) with Turin she made spontaneous but still small and calculated risks. Her husband drew that from her. The background noise of the Inn, it’s patrons and staff served as a reminder that she did not have the luxury of time to reflect and carefully break apart and analyse everything. She could muse about this later tonight, at home while she wrote a letter to the dotorésa about the state of their mutual friend and patient.

Despite the lack of time for careful reflection and analysis, she was not surprised by the fact that she did not think any less of Beren. Nessa admitted to herself that the rage and violence inside him frightened her. The thought that he could lose control over himself frightened her, the same way it frightened and tormented him. It clashed with the code of chivalry he held himself to, and the image of a knight he aspired to be. But she could not and did not think any less of him.

He was very human at this moment, and endearing o her, as he continued speaking. He mentioned a letter that waited for him after his return to the farm. The content of this (according to him) emasculating letter, she presumed, had pushed her already troubled patient over the edge… The foolish, prideful, stubborn man had turned to drink instead of reaching out to Morana or her. Perhaps worrying that the two women would judge him or think less of him. The only judgement he would probably receive was a slap on the head from Morana who would spend a good while carefully explaining (her explanation most assuredly peppered with choice Pelagriri profanities) why he was a half-witted, scruffy-looking Fleeg herder. But he would undoubtedly survive the dotorésa’s scolding; she was clearly very fond of her Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to know Man.

It seemed that they were both thinking about her; for after grumbling about how embarrassed he was to talk about this to a woman (causing an arched eyebrow in response), he gave her his word that he would return. And if not she was allowed (ha!) to sic Morana on him.

“She would like that, you know,” she said with an amused smile. “Morana is worried about you, Beren,” she told him, her tone serious. “She might be reluctant to admit this, but she worries about you.”

He looked away from her then, flabbergasted and uncomfortable by her comment. From what she could tell the relationship between the Byronic hero and the dotorésa was complex, but neither was willing to say more on the matter. She respected their decision and their privacy, although she had heard rumours that they were lovers. Pelargir might not have 7 gossip circles, but people were still people and gossip and rumours flowed as fast as the Anduin to the sea, meandering around and tangling in the canals. There was a sudden shift in his mood as something or someone caught his attention. He made a rather silly face as he whistled and called out “Hey starshine!” and she smiled radiantly knowing who it was. She moved her hand from his and turned in her chair to see where her daughter was.

By the looks of things, her daughter was having a one-way chat with the little girl (Dina) who was holding her cloth doll close. The blonde girl stuck close to the boy (Berrik) who had his hands in his pockets. Nessa looked over to Hannah who was speaking to Lady Isys and appeared to be awkwardly flustered. Her smile widened watching the scene and she wondered what happened between the children. And perhaps she might find out, for Ellin turned round to see who was calling her and grinned widely when she noticed them.

“Uncle Bear!” Ellin cried and waved before turning over to the blond girl and apparently offering a somewhat quick explanation of who she was greeting. Nessa watched, her heart overflowed with joy and love, as her daughter sailed over to them and hugged Beren freely, without a care in the world. Her smile turned soft and gentle as she noticed how Beren relaxed and enjoyed her daughter’s affection. She was painfully aware that he craved and needed the comfort of a human touch after the harrowing experience he just relived in his confession. She could only do so much, bound by societal norms, but her daughter did not operate within those restrictions. She was a child still and free to openly show affection whenever and to whomever she wished. Nessa felt a sharp pang in her heart when Ellin turned her head to her with questions in her eyes; her daughter remembering her lessons in etiquette and wondering if this was appropriate. She nodded her head approvingly, fighting with tears that came to her eyes as she watched the scene before her. Her little girl was growing up so fast, and soon, all too soon she would be pushed into the world of adulthood…

She turned her head away from them so neither could see her distress and as her starling chirped at Beren, she sought out Hannah. The russet-haired girl could not have looked any more uncomfortable and torn between so many things that needed her attention. Nessa swiped the tears from her eyes and gestured at Hannah to go with Pele as Lady Isys was apparently directing the group of kids. The teen still looked uncertain, a concerned look on her face when she saw her mistress wiping away her eyes. Nessa smiled at her and once again motioned to her to go, mouthing that she’d be there soon.

Hannah reaching new levels of teen awkwardness and feeling like she’s making faux passes left, right and centre with Ellin, Berrik and Dina

Hannah had the sinking feeling that she had somehow, quite unintentionally and unknowingly, done or said something to offend Berrik. Ever since they entered the inn the boy was morose, with his hands stuck in his pockets and standing as far away from people as possible. He looked like he was uncomfortable to be in her company and so she wondered what was it that she had said or done to make him feel this way. She didn’t think she had been rude or said anything hurtful and insensitive. The girls seemed to be getting along fine, well Ellin was chatting merrily at Dina who was still there, albeit holding her cloth doll tightly to her. She didn’t seem scared or overwhelmed by her charge and that was a huge relief to her.

So Hannah was the one that committed a terrible faux pas and she bit her lip trying to figure out what she had done. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked the proprietress if they could wash up before they have something to eat. Maybe she should have kept quiet and not draw attention to that. She flushed, embarrassed by the thought, the right and proper thing to do would have been to let him ask himself. She meant well, but by meaning well and not asking him if it was alright to do this she offended him. She was just about to apologise for causing offence when two things happened.

Finally, the Lady ranger had a moment to spare for them and spoke. “We shall find you some nice water to make dirty,” the Lady said and continued gesturing to the Master Healer “Go with Pele there.” Hannah blinked, slightly confused. Was this how high-born nobles spoke to people in Minas Tirith? The White City was indeed a strange and confusing place.

“Thank you milady,” she quietly told Lady Isys unsure if she used the correct title. Before she could second-guess herself a whistle and a call came from the table where mistress Nessa was talking to the unknown gentleman. She turned to look at the same time when Ellin exclaimed “Uncle Bear!” and waved. Hannah blinked in surprise, she was not aware that Ellin had uncles. Mistress Nessa had no siblings, only cousins, and master Turin never mentioned his family… At least not in her earshot…

“That’s uncle Bear!” Ellin said to Dina like it all made perfect sense. “He’s a ranger just like my daddy! He’s with my mum,” the girl continued her explanation excitedly gesturing to her lady mother who was looking at them with a wide smile. “She didn’t mention he was coming to see her! I’m going to go say hi to him quickly. I’ll be back and then we can eat something!” she finished, nodded her head at Dina and rushed over to greet the man. Hannah stood where she was looking at her charge, then at Berrik and Dina, who was handling the chirping whirlwind that was Ellin really well. She was unsure what to do, torn between her duty to watch over Ellin, want to help her mistress who looked at the verge of crying and taking Berrik and Dina to the kitchen so they could all wash up before they had something to eat.

Luckily for the very indecisive and anxious teenager, her mistress saw her distress and signalled to follow the Master Healer. Pausing for a moment, still unsure, she saw that Nessa was again gesturing her to go so she simply nodded and turned to Dina and Berrik.

“Let’s follow the Master Healer and wash up shall we?” she said trying to sound cheerful instead of flustered and clumsy as she felt. “I’m sure Ellin won’t be long,” she finished with a smile as the three of them obediently followed Pele like ducklings. As the Master Healer set up a bucket of water in the corner next to the door along with a bar of soap and towel, Hannah carefully rolled up the sleeve of her fine dress. Luckily for her, the sleeves were not as billowy as was the fashion now, so she could roll them up easily. She stepped up first and quickly but thoroughly washed her hands, just as the Master Healer instructed, and dried them on the towel. After she finished she moved away and gestured to Dina to go next.

“You can wash your hands now, it’s alright,” she spoke to the girl as she knelt next to her careful not to touch her or her toy. “If you’d like you can leave your doll on the chair while you wash your hands. I promise no one will touch it. Or give it to Berrik if you’d like,” she suggested with a small smile looking at the girl. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” She got up slowly and moved slightly giving both of them space. Before she entered fully into the kitchen proper she gently touched Berrik’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out looking at him, her cheeks flushed. “If I offended you somehow. It was not my intent. I’m sorry for making you or Dina uncomfortable…” she paused for a moment and looked at the floor and then continued quietly. “I’ll be here in the kitchen, helping out if you need me… I’m sure Ellin won’t be long and Dina can play with her if she wants too… If she doesn’t, come tell me and I’ll find something for her to do.”

Hannah felt too awkward to look Berrik in the eyes so she turned her head to look at the kitchen. Kitchens were safe spaces, warm and comfortable, filled with delicious scents of foods. It didn’t matter how rich or poor you were the scent of cooking was always comforting. So she looked at this kitchen trying to see what she could do to help, but not be a nuisance at the same time. She wouldn’t want to ruin any of the food that was already on the stove. The sheer amount of vegetable peels under the table indicated that someone, perhaps the young man (Unalmis) who stepped outside before they entered the kitchen did that, was busy. However, he left quite an amount of peeled potatoes on the table.

Smiling slightly Hannah took a ribbon she tucked in the belt of her dress and quickly gathered her hair and tied it. She looked around for an apron so she wouldn’t ruin the dress she was wearing. Firstly, she was going to slice those already peeled potatoes on the table into thin slices, dry and salt them. Then she was going to fry them. She didn’t see any fish, but she never saw anybody refuse crisps, even the rich folks seemed to enjoy the poor man’s food. Maybe after that she could do make potato halves, that was a quick and easy dish. You simply washed the potatoes thoroughly, cut them in halves and seasoned them and drizzle with oil. You then put them in an oiled pan and shove them in a preheated oven and bake around 40 minutes. She’d usually serve them with bacon, but they’re fine just by themselves. Nodding happily to herself she found an apron, put it over her dress and tied it and got started on making her potato dishes.

((Author's note: Dear reader

4000+ years words later here we are. I offer my sincerest apologies for the trauma(s) you might have endured while reading this. @Tharmáras is to blame for 3/4, 2/3 surely half of the post :grin: I take sole responsibility for bringing Lord Byron into ME and turning him into a Noldor who will heroically die liberating ME from Sauron. He will surely one day appear in AoA for everyone's amusement :lol: The part marked with an * is taken from Richard K. Morgan's Broken Angels. Apparently, Quintus de Scardena is a Quellis. Quelle surprise. If you made it this far I thank you! You are far too kind.
))

🧚
She/her.
Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant
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Berrik and Dina

Berrik froze, all thoughts of dirty hands and being out of place forgotten as he recognised the woman. She made a faint gesture and he swallowed hard. He gave an almost imperceptible nod before his eyes flicked to Dina. But the young girl only had eyes for Ellin. Hugging her dolly close, her eyes were locked on Ellin all the way out into the kitchen, until her view was obscured by the walls. She completely missed seeing the woman, instead stopping at the large bowl of water and eyeing it suspiciously.

Looking up at Berrik, it looked as if she was waiting for him to do it first, even though Hannah had already done her hands. Still out of sorts, looking back to see if the woman would return, Berrik walked over to the bowl and carefully washed his hands, making sure they were spotless before he wiped them off. "Go on.. it's ok, it's not too cold.." he said to Dina as he saw she was still hesitating.

Berrik tensed as Hannah leaned in to speak to Dina, worrying that she would get too close and scare the little girl. But suprisingly she seemed to contemplate what Hannah was saying. At the mention of Berrik holding her dolly, she gave him an almost apologetic look, as if she didn't quite trust him with it. He gave her a smile to let her know it was ok and watched with bated breath as she stepped closer to the bowl and put the doll next to it. Pulling up on her ragged sleeves, she dunked her hands in carefully at first and then relaxed when she realised it was not as bad as she thought.

She used the soap for far longer than was necessary, lathering up enough to wash several people. But there was a hint of a smile on her lips and there was no way Berrik was going to stop her now. When she finally finished, he held out the towel for her and as soon as she was done he checked to make sure the towel wasn't dirty, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was only wet.

He was folding it up and laying it as neatly as he could next to the bowl when Hannah suddenly touched his arm, making him flinch slightly. Her apology took him by surprise, leaving him gaping as she walked off. Frozen to the spot, he missed the chance of alleviating her fears of having offended him. He scratched at his hair and then suddenly stopped, looking down at his hand to see if he had made it dirty again. Breathing out another sigh, he looked around feeling completely out of place and looking like he was going to bolt.

At that moment Dina looked up at him and then walked over to watch Hannah. Drawing in a calming breath, he followed too. They had to eat, he couldn't leave as he knew Dina would follow and he could not be the reason she did not get to eat tonight, his stomach starting to growl as he watched Hannah expertly chop up a potato. But even his hunger couldn't keep his eyes on the food, moving them up to look at Hannah, her hair now tied back. He couldn't help but smile, she looked so at ease and.. cute.

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As she dealt with the stew and the pie, checking to make sure that both were all but ready, Pele cast a glance at the young folk now and then. The water that they had used to wash their hands in now looked filled with foam from the soap that threatened to roll over the lip of the bucket.

Then she also found that the kids had not left: Hannah had taken upon herself the task of preparing potatoes for some dish only known to herself, and the other two were now standing and looking on. A grin played on the Rangers face, as she observed them for a few moments.

"Right, young people," she eventually said. "Either you all help me here or choose some food and go out into the common room to eat. I would not have you all milling about and making movements more difficult here." She addressed mostly Berrik, though with a smile for Dina, and nodded towards food that was already done and added: "Would you want some stew or pie, or whatever potato dish is currently in the making? With the dessert to follow? Or would you first want to peel more potatoes just in case there is a need for those?"
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Mourgan

He didn't need to wait long. Turning his attention to a known face, Unalmis, he offered a small smile of recognition as he listened to his advice then followed his eyes to watch Isys pour the mead then make tea?
He turned his attention back to Unalmis. "I'll uh..take the mead...and some stew too if it's no problem." He half grinned. "I'm not sure who put my Aunt in charge of cooking but I know she can make a mean honeycake and tea but that won't fill me up." He motioned to the kitchen. "How did they wrangle you into this?" He asked wondering. "Did Pele threaten you with her sword? She tends to do that, trust me, I know. " He chuckled and looked momentarily to the side, he noted Beren speaking with a healer and his chuckle died off.
He wasn't quite sure how to take his father these days, some moments he seemed uneffected by his mothers letter which he didn't know the contents of it but he knew the general idea of it and other times the man seemed to have had his entire world crash down around him. It confused him and left him unsure how to approach him. He could find himself circling that train of thought all day so he pulled himself away from it and looked back at Unalmis.
He offered a small smile. "What would you recommend as a safe dessert?"
Isolde Alarion/Rohan~Nelladel Alarion/Gondor~Mourgan Alarion/Gondor ~ Dahak/ Umbar ~ Relic RIP

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Unalmis and Ilisys


Unalmis nodded approvingly at Mourgan’s grasp of the menu. “You know, on that, I am not really sure,” he shrugged, when obligations were questioned. Those women had wiles indeed to gain his help without ever asking outright for it ! “But as I am due refresher training soon on basic Healing skills, I figured it best not to refuse our Master Healer. She rather put herself in charge of the cooking honestly. She and Isys simply threw this thing together. So I am glad to hear at least one of them is capable in the kitchen.

The sobering conclusion to the other Ranger’s laughter emphasised Mourgan’s uneasy glance toward his father. A mutual acquaintance. Unalmis was no more privy than was Beren’s son, as to the contents of any private letter or, in Nal’s case, that there even had been a letter at all. He and Camlost played on a very superficial level without ever delving far below the surface. It was an arrangement that suited them both more or less. The young man was frequently unable to keep up with Beren’s romantic inclinations, and he had been only more convinced of this than ever lately. But his Barracks mate had never swayed in how determined he was to reconnect with Mourgan.

Your aunt’s honey cakes are of course, the stand-out choice,” he answered the question of safe choices, skating on that superficial surface once again. “Though I sliced the apples for the fruitier alternative myself, and didn’t even shin any of my own skin in with it,” he added, quite proud of himself for this meagre feat. A fascination with knives had not always led to such a happy ending.

I’d best see about your stew,” he smiled, excusing himself in a response to Ilisys, who was dreamily waving a cup of hot tea at him, in a manner he deemed quite precarious. And hilarious of course. Having presented Tarawen with a good tankard of mead and a nod, the Lady switched up Nessa’s tea for Mourgan’s order and headed back into the kitchen to inform Pele.

Nal was upon his path toward the seated healer, when great burly arms erupting from behind him, and stole the cup of tea, raising it to great heights beyond his reach.




Narradir and Addhor
because it was not quite crowded/crazy enough.


Is this for me ?Narradir grinned, even as the younger man scowled, made a play to reclaim the cup, only to be held at bay by the abruptly extended leg that the tall man wielded like a shield.

Bit tame for you,” was the best course of dissuasion Unalmis could muster, but it worked, for the forester sniffed at the tea and pulled a face. “It’s for the lady,” he was warned. “Over there ?

Following Nal’s finger, Narradir caught sight of Beren and Nessa suddenly, and guffawed. “Camlost ! You came !” Despite the fact that there was more than one man in the inn who might rise at that name. Fighting off Nal’s efforts to regain Nessa’s order, it was a wonder they did not spill the tea between them. But the emergence of his own father saw Unalmis relent somewhat.

Leave him be a time, he’s busy,Addhor mentioned quietly, as he noted his friend abiding amongst other friends, and provoked Narradir into a pout. Practically dragging his knuckles across the floor, the forester was lead by his friend to a table near to the writing on the wall.

Unalmis seized the opportunity to reclaim the drink while the menu caused distraction, then sped off with the tea and skidded to a halt in front of Nessa, who appeared to have become a bit emotional since the last time he had spied on her and her company. He ought to have left immediately but stood for a moment, awkwardly, the drink offered forth in both hands like an excuse for still loitering.

Unalmis”, his father raised his voice just once, and then gestured for the youth to join him and Narradir. But Isys was now finished pouring out a mead for Mourgan. So the son gave his father a wide berth, under the guise of being far too busy to be told off for interfering. He had delivered the other young man his drink when Narradir tired of waiting to be wait on.

A couple of meads over here, please, when you’ve a moment,” the forester decided, and then turned to Addhor. “And .. what do you want ?




In the Kitchen

This one probably wants some bread, to startIlisys decided for Berrick, raised both hands high above her as she dodged all the new arrived bodies in the kitchen and twirled in so doing. When she came back to herself, facing her fellow Pub-provider, the woman of Belfalas glanced about the room as though she did not know quite how she’d gotten there.

Oh and Mourgan would like some mead stew,” she took Pele's hand in her's to tell her, circled Hannah once and then wandered off to find out how many tankards of alcohol a certain forester believed that he could manage. And quite what he might be prepared to do to earn such fares. The stage awaited, after all. And if anyone was likely to convince the crowd that they could do no worse than him, it would be Narradir probably.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Tarawen

With a nod and a slight smile, Tara acknowledged the woman behind the bar (Ilisys). She seemed quite busy with serving up drinks and food; no doubt Pele would be very preoccupied with preparing each dish. She would simply have to wait her turn to say hello to her friend. While she waited, she turned her head to look around. The stage was still empty, but a tall woman with raven hair and a haughty expression (Vorinde) had entered just behind her and was eyeing it curiously. People sat in twos and threes, children’s voices clamored in the modest space, and Tarawen felt unusually at ease alone in a seeming sea of people.

Her gaze fell upon a woman seated nearby (Vipsania), whose red hair looked positively alight with flame. She repeated the motion from earlier: a quick nod and a small smile. This was Tarawen’s best strategy in group settings: in doing so, she acknowledged those present and announced (if quietly) not unfriendly intent, but managed it without words. She had never been of the talkative sort, and her time in the north and now her isolated existence in the city had only reinforced her natural inclination to withdraw when she found herself in a crowd.

“Thank you,” she murmured when a large tankard slid across the bar toward her. She gave Ilisys a warmer smile this time as she lifted the mug to her lips. The mead hit her tongue with a dry tang and a pleasant splash of honey, and she drank deeply. The boarder who’d told her about this place had it right about the mead, at least. She set her mug down upon the counter and sighed, satisfied. Time would tell if Pele’s pies lived up to the rumors, too.



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Vorinde

Time passed, and no one stepped up to the stage. Vorinde was disappointed. Much as she loved the sound of her own voice, she was loath to be the first to sing. It would be better simply to be one of many who sang. She looked from her book to the room at large: some still sat in private conversation, and others crowded noisily into the kitchen. The poor chef probably couldn’t get a moment to focus on their work! And, when her song was sung, Vorinde would earn her meal and only add to the workload.

She sighed, then turned the page of her book. The parchment rustled softly, but only she caught the sound beneath the hum of conversation in the pub. It was time: time to draw attention to herself, to raise her voice, and - she hoped - to find herself in captivating conversation with someone. Vorinde stood, taking the book with her and wedging her thumb between its open pages to preserve her place. She looked straight at the woman at the bar (Ilisys) and pointed to the stage with a smile, a gesture which plainly said, “I’ll give it a try.”

She strode toward the stage and hopped lightly onto the raised platform. She cleared her throat, then, without waiting for quiet or any attention, spoke in a clear, ringing voice.

“My fellow patrons! It is my great pleasure to take to this stage and offer up a song. I only pray it proves worth the price of meat and mead.”

She paused for only the smallest of spaces to drop her eyes to the book still clutched in her hand before she began to sing softly, at first almost in an airy, nostalgic whisper.


There are two of us on the run
Going so fast, every doubt we had is coming undone
And falling behind with everything we left there
We held on for far too long

And now we pass so many people on the road
They could come along, I wish they'd been told
They may call it a shot in the dark
From what we know, it's not unheard of

And we'll one day tell our story
Of how we made something of ourselves now

Here, her voice strengthened and crescendoed to soar above the sounds of the pub. She shut the book and, eyes closed, used it as a makeshift drum, beating the rhythm of the song upon it with the heel of her hand and the tips of her fingers.


There's no race, there's only a runner
Just keep one foot in front of the other
There's no race there's only a runner
One, two, three even when you get tired
Just keep one foot in front of the other
There's no race, no ending in sight
No second too short, no window too tight

Just put out the fire when you leave
'Cause we've got everything we're gonna need
We're on the run, we're on the run, we're on the run child
We gotta run, we gotta run, we gotta run child

One day tell our story
Of how we made something of ourselves now

One day tell our story
Of how we made something
We made something of ourselves

Each word of the final line faded slowly into the next, until Vorinde’s final notes dissolved on the air. She opened her eyes, smiled, and hopped down from the platform without flourish or ceremony.

She approached the counter and smiled at all those who had seated themselves in the vicinity. “Well, what did you think? Was my song worthy of a supper?”

(Song adapted from "Two of Us on the Run" by Lucius)
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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Hannah in the safety of the kitchen

For as long as she could remember kitchens were safe spaces. Warm and comfortable, an eruption of colours and a variety of aromas and delicious scents floating in the air. A joyous symphony of everyday sounds – from the crackling of the fire, the chatter of cooks, the clang of pots and pans being put on or taken off a stove… The sizzling of olive oil or fat in a pan, water being poured, the whistle of the kettle signalling that the water was coming to a boil… This might not have been her kitchen (not that Hannah had a kitchen of her own) still, it was familiar territory.

She felt safe and comfortable by the warmth of this improvised kitchen as she found an apron and put it over her dress, securing it at the back by tying a knot and fixing it, making sure to protect the fine gown she wore. Hannah shook her head slightly, a few russet strands of curly hair escaping from the ribbon. She tucked them behind her ear before she focused her attention on the table and the peeled vegetables in front of her. Fortunately for her, the person who was peeling the potatoes before she came knew enough about potatoes to put them in a large bowl filled with water. Perhaps the young man (Unalmis), whose name she still didn’t know and it felt strange calling him and thinking about him as a young man (even if it was all in her head) wasn’t completely clueless about food preparation as most young men were.

Hannah ducked her head and flushed slightly as she found a clean plate on the table and placed it in front of her. She should not be so quick to judge someone’s skills in the kitchen, especially if she hadn’t witnessed said skill being demonstrated. Besides, she could find no fault in the way the vegetables were peeled. Taking a knife in her dominant hand and using the other to take a potato out of the bowl with water she started slicing the vegetable. She watched the slices fall on the clean plate, making sure that they were equally thin, just like her mother and grandmother taught her. Soon she had a steady rhythm going and with each familiar move, she felt herself growing more comfortable and relaxed. She couldn’t make a faux pas by slicing potatoes and even if she made one slice thicker than the other nobody would mind.

She felt a movement near, of someone coming and standing next to her. She continued her work perfectly comfortable, not minding at all that someone was standing next to her. Finishing one potato she reached over to the bowl to grab the next one and looked up, noticing that Dina was next to her watching. The look on the little girl’s face was a mixture of intense concentration, curiosity, eagerness and the sheer joy of a hungry child who was eagerly watching someone preparing food that will soon be ready and served on the table. Something she saw in Dina, perhaps the mixture of emotions on her face, reminded Hannah of Ellin and she smiled, a gentle, sweet smile of an older sister who was taking care of a younger sibling.

Still smiling she looked from Dina to Berrik and when she looked at him, properly looked at him, she stopped in her tracks. He was smiling. At her. He was looking at her and smiling. He looked different when he smiled, she noted while she lowered her hands on the table; a half-sliced potato in one hand and a sharp kitchen knife in the other. He looked lighter somehow, with messy brown curls framing his face, his eyes shining brightly. Hannah found herself responding to his smile, to the joy on his face, her smile becoming radiant with unexpected happiness. She was in a kitchen, a safe and happy place, preparing food for others and a handsome boy was smiling at her and she was smiling back!

“Right, young people,” the practical and calm voice of the Master Healer broke through whatever spell was at work here and brought them all back to reality. “Either you all help me here or choose some food and go out into the common room to eat. I would not have you all milling about and making movements more difficult here.”

Hannah felt the heat on her cheeks and she was sure she was dangerously close to tomato territory so she ducked her head, not that it would hide the embarrassing flush on her face, and mumbled something that might have been understood as “get the pan and oil” but what people heard before she turned her back to them was up to interpretation. If anyone, including the Master Healer and the Lady Ranger who came a moment later, were in any doubt about the short russet-haired girl’s intentions, all was made clear when after a short hunting trip through the cabinets Hannah found a pan that would suit her purposes.

Placing it on the empty spot on the stove she looked for oil and breathed a sigh of relief when she found it close by and in a spot she could actually reach without having to contort herself to reach it. Or stand on the tips of her toes, or jump up and down to reach it. It would have been highly embarrassing if she had to do that! Of course, she could always ask for help, but she didn’t want the ladies to think she was a (rather short) nuisance. And asking Berrik… She simply couldn’t ask his help now, not after the Master Healer’s words…

Hannah shook her head again, trying to clear her mind from silliness, a few more locks of hair escaped her ribbon, but she left them where they were. She uncorked the dark green glass bottle that contained olive oil and poured the amount she needed into the frying pan and corked the bottle and returned it to the exact spot where she found it. Turning back to the table where she left the sliced potatoes she noticed that Dina and Berrik, well mostly Berrik by the looks of thing, were still undecided on what to do next. She bit her lower lip to prevent herself from saying anything, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She reached to take the plate with the potato slices but stopped before she lifted it off the table.

“Salt,” she said under her breath, frowning slightly as she looked around for a jar, or a vessel or a container where that essential of all spices should be. She found the ordinary, undecorated ceramic salt jar quickly enough. Despite not looking like the lavishly decorated salt cellar in the de Argosy household that was most often used for hospitium ceremonies, she smiled fondly at this simple jar of salt.

She scooped the desired amount of salt in her hand and started seasoning the sliced potato chips, making sure that each slice was coated with enough salt. For a short moment, Hannah debated about adding other spices, but this was not Pelargir, and she would wager that people here were not so used to spicy food as they were back home. The corners of her lips twitched, an amused smile threatening to bloom on her lips as she finished seasoning the potatoes. She heard the sizzling of oil in her pan despite the other sounds of the kitchen and she quickly wiped her hands on a discarded cloth she found on the kitchen table and took the plate to the stove.

OOC: ((Oh look, special effects! Pictures! What's next? Colour? :lol: And the food isn't too spicy! Certain folks, whose names we shall not mention :winkkiss: , will be pleased by this! :lol: ))
She/her.
Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant
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High Warden of Tower
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"If he wants bread, he might get bread," Pele responded to Isys who seemed to decide for Berrick before the lad could even answer. "And mead stew?" Raised eyebrow showed the slight confusion such a request caused, but then the Ranger assumed that it probably meant mead AND stew.

Turning around to look at her crowded kitchen, Pele observed that Hannah seemed rather proficient with slicing the potatoes and going about preparing them. "I assume that you have assigned yourself to help in the kitchen then, and that we can add those potatoes to the official menu. Right?" she asked the girl, her blue eyes twinkling with suppressed merriment.

As for the other kids, Pele did not want to chase them off too strictly, as the little girl (Dina) already seemed to be rather timid. Yet, she turned to Berrick again and said: "So, what is it? Are you up to lending a helping hand? After you eat, of course. There is a plenty of stew or pie, or some other stuff, if you wish, even bread, so just let me know."

Deciding that the youngster would speak his mind when he was ready, she turned back to her pots and pans, pouring a couple of bowls with stew and two with the pies. The song that reached her ears among all other sounds told her that someone had been brave enough to take to the stage, so Pele picked up one of the plates with a pie and slipped out of the kitchen for a while to listen to the song.

"Tara, great to see you here!" she greeted her friend, as she set the pie before her, and leaned on the counter, listening to Vorinde. The song made her think that she should find time for a good long run at some point, just to enjoy the scenery if nothing else. Sometime.

"I vote for you getting supper," Pele responded when the singer had stepped off the improved stage and now asked for opinions on her performance.
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Master Torturer
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Berrik and "Dina"

Could a smile alone light up a room? Surely not, right? Though the room still seemed lighter and brighter as Hannah returned his smile. For the briefest of moments everything around him was forgotten, even the needy growling sound his stomach was making, his dark eyes soaking up the young woman's smile. A stern voice cut through his musings and he blinked furiously, equally flustered. Dina on the other hand who had only had eyes for the potatoes, was looking up at the two of them wondering why Hannah had stopped chopping, not understanding what the brief "moment" had been about.

Clearing his throat, Berrik looked around, feeling the need to do something in order to pay for the food, but he was hopelessly out of sorts when it came to cooking. He did not even know how to peel potatoes. But he could clean. This place was going to need to be swept or dishes washed at some point, that could pay for any food they ate tonight, surely?

As the sterner of the women had already left for the main room, he decided to take the bowls of stew and ask later. It had seemed like they were allowed to and he was sure he would be told if that was not the case. Giving Hannah another brief smile, he called for Dina to follow him, snaking his way out of the busy kitchen and into the main area, though his shoulders were tense as if prepared to defend them against being yelled at or run out of the inn.

Finding a small rickety table in a far corner, he set their bowls down and made sure Dina was tucking in before he too scooped a mouthful of the stew into his own mouth, only half paying attention to the song being sung. Beautiful as it was, the hot food was taking up most of their attention as they quickly ate as if at any minute they were going to have their food taken away from them. It was not every day, or even every week, that their meal was served hot and from the look on their faces it was definitely something they were both enjoying.

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