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Nasi's brow is furrowed with concern as he makes his way back to the remains of Gamilfûn. He glances up at the clear twilight sky as he draws his cloak closer about him against the chill of the approaching evening. The days were warming but the nights still held the bite of frost to them. Spring was normally such a joyous time with everyone glad to see the end of the snows and the first green buds as the world awoke from its winter slumber. But spring was not a good time for a forager. Far better if it were summer when fruit were ripe and the game fat and plentiful. This was the second day now he had gone out to forage with no success, and it worried him.
Nasi's glance was caught by movement ahead, and for a moment he was hopeful it was a stray animal seeking to raid the slim pickings in the settlement kitchen gardens. But no, it was the newcomer. Aztryd? Yes that was her name. Now what had her scampering inside with such urgency, he wondered for a moment. He shrugs as he continues on up the stone steps and into the dark interior. It was none of his business after all.
Fafnir watches Adelstein as he walks back to the table and sit down upon the wooden bench. His lips curls for a moment, and he reaches up to push a strand of limp brown hair from his brow, out of his eyes. Only a few kegs of ale left. Do we drink ourselves into better fortune? Fafnir thinks. He picks up the salt cellar and seasons the stew nonetheless. He reaches for the pepper mill and grinds some pepper over the pot. Salt, yes, season the stew. Fafnir reaches over and pulls apart another bite of the warm, fresh bread. We should season it with chicken, too, or beef, but leeks and potatoes and carrots will have to do. The patrol is missing, and there is no fresh meat for the pot. He dare not tap into their stores anymore than is necessary. The inventory was not meant to tide the population without fresh supplies coming in, and without their patrol, he does not know how they would make do.
Old Hjalmarr would hardly bother to hunt, and Fafnir doubts the old dwarf could bring down more than feather, and that if left upon the ground. And Eilif? She could barely see her fingers were she to wiggle them before her face. Adelsteinn? No, unless kegs of ale are considered wild game in any part of the known world, Adelsteinn is no hunter. But if mead took wings or developed hooves..well, Adelsteinn would shame the most skilled of huntsmen, Fafnir had no doubt. That left the mother, himself...and Nasi.
The smell of the stew makes Hjalmarr's stomach grumble. He envies small Nizl, making a messy goo of her bread, who does not have to wait for the proper meal to be ready. It is hard, he thinks, to be a young one who must wait on the wishes of adults for every need, but at the same time, brave young Nizl can smile in blissful ignorance of dragons and war. He eyes the bread upon the table and the size of the pot of soup, and calculates how much will be left over after they have all eaten and set some aside for the injured in the pantry.
"Aye," he says to Adelstein, "small spices improve the dish far out of proportion to their size. One appreciates them more in times such as this." He looks about the mostly-empty kitchen. "Is this all that come to eat, tonight? Had we not a few returning from patrol?"
Adelsteinn stares morosely into his empty mug waiting for dinner. He thinks again about the limited quantity of ale in the cellar. He should be the one to drink it, and perhaps it will help him think better on what to do. He looks up at Hjalmarr and nods. "Spices do make the flavour. The patrol should be back by now," he says as he looks worried at the door.
Aztryd dashes back down the corridor, hampered by her armload of dry woolens, stumbling occasionally over bits of fallen rubble, yet far too excited to move slowly. She dumps the clothing on a spare table in the kitchen, and rushes over to Adelsteinn. "Elder," she pants, "a swan just brought us a message, from King Olwe, the king of the elves, the ones I was visiting." She hands him the parchment, now crumpled and sweaty from her clutching. "Elwing must have gotten word to him after all ... " She stops babbling only because she is out of air, and looks at Adelsteinn with excitement.
Nasi follows the sound of Aztryd's hurrying footsteps down the narrow corridor leading to the kitchens. He does not call out to her for what would he say? Nasi has never been at ease around the female dwarves and one with a small child perplexes him completely. Instead he contents himself to follow at his own pace, his nose sniffing appreciatively as the smell of hot cooking food becomes stronger. As he enters the kitchen, he takes care to keep his eyes averted from the others, so they would not read there his disappointment in himself. Tossing the empty sack and his hunting weapons onto the floor of the pantry with a disgusted grunt, he comments to no one in particular, "I know it is early in the season, and the game is scarce, but there was at least some to be seen and brought down. But now.." he shakes his head at the conundrum. "I don't know why but there is none. It's like they've just vanished." He looks up at Fafnir, and his dark eyes are regretful. "I am sorry. I have nothing to add to your larder tonight." Anything more he may have been about to say is forgotten as he notices Aztryd's agitation. Was fresh laundry really that exciting?
Fafnir whirls around at the dwarven mother's noisy entrance but bites back the sharp remark he was to make as she dumps her clothes atop a table and rushes over to the elder, extending to him a bit of parchment. Ladle in hand, his eyes catch sight of the stone mason, noting the way he kept his gaze locked upon the floor, and Fafnir's eyes go immediately to the sack in his hand. Empty, it was too limp to have anything, and when Nasi ducks into the pantry, Fafnir knows he was right. With one ear, he listens to Aztryd go on and on about elves, but his eyes watch Nasi as he brings his gaze up to meet Fafnir's. Forcing a small smile to his lips, he keeps his tone careless and light. "No worry, handsome, " he answers. "For though the turnips fled at the battle, I won the war with the carrots and took the onions hostage. And thus we have a victor's feast in this stew as we hear Aztryd's news." He gives a slow wink and then turns his attention back to the pot, taking the ladle and spooning the meatless stew into bowls. "So, this Old-way," he says as he continues to prepare the bowl. "What message has he for us? Perhaps he means to send us swans for our stews in the future, and the bird was more thoughtful of its life than our stomachs?"
With a surprised face, Adelsteinn takes the note from Aztryd and reads it quietly. As he reads, his face looks even more surprised, and all thoughts of the ale shortage fall from his mind. He glances at Aztryd who is panting excitedly. He then beckons Fafnir over and holds the note towards him with an expression like he is looking for a response from him. "No swans for our stews, but..." his voice cuts off as if he wants Fafnir to read first.
Hjalmarr smiles behind his beard at Fafnir's tale of vanquishing the vegetables. It is kind of him to save face for the hunter. Such kindnesses may beget lifelong friendships in such dire straits as they are now in; many a Dwarven warrior can attest to that. He ceases to consider the relationship between the two younger Dwarves, however, as Nizl's mother arrives in a flurry of words and laundry. News? From the Elves? Had not that Elf of Aztryd's only just left these two days past? He strains to hear any possible whisperings between those gathered over the note. It is much too far away for him to read. "Such adventures you bring us, Nizl," he murmurs, feeding her another crust of bread to keep her from throwing herself off his lap in search of her mother.
Her eyes glowing with excitement, Aztryd bounces over to Hjalmarr, and holds out her hands toward Nizl. "I hope she wasn't any trouble," she says to the old jeweler, as she brushes bits of soggy bread out of Nizl's hair. "See, magpie," she croons to the baby, nodding toward the Elder and the parchment, "Lady Elwing didn't forget us after all!"
Nasi's cheeks dimple, and he ducks his head shyly to hide the pleased smile at the kindness of Fafnir's words. Or was it the wink that set his cheeks flushing so hotly? Grateful for the swarthiness of his complexion, he coughs nervously and runs his fingers through his hair as he takes a seat at the table, taking care to sit where he can discreetly watch the tall dwarf as he approaches the Elder. Now what was on that piece of paper, he wonders, to have both the mother and the Elder so excited?. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he watches the others with interest.
Fafnir sets the ladle down in an empty bowl, at the master brewer's summons, his eyes peering carefully at Adelsteinn's face, catching his surprise but no clue as to the contents of the message. Giving his vest--the one he wore when Ulreg became the lord of their settlement-- a tug,, he straightens up and walks over to the Elder, his mind busy. He trusts me, Fafnir realizes, and the thought makes him stand that much straighter. Reaching out, he takes the letter from Adelstein and holds it with both hands, his lips silently moving as he reads the contents. His brown eyes widen, and he looks up and at Adelsteinn and then at Aztryd.
"This...this Olwe..." he rolls the name around, the sound of it foreign to his ears. "He would do this?" He looks back down at the letter and then sits down upon the bench as though his legs had no more strength. "Why, by the great horned beard of the Maker, would he bother to do this?" He catches Aztryd's remark about the elf who left them and favors her with a wicked smile. "And here I thought she was put off by the simple fare we had to offer her, she being an elf and all."
"Never, never let anyone see you are caught by surprise," the crafty older dwarf, Ulreg, once told him. Just that once, when Fafnir entered civil service and was congratulated by the crusty old dwarf himself on his very first day. "Never let them know you are caught unawares. Now, bring me ale, my boy, and get to work."
Hjalmarr surrenders Nizl, not without some small regret (though he will be glad to have his hands free for dinner). "Nay, she has been no trouble. Adventuresome and well-behaved--no wonder you could take her to the courts of Elvish kings."
And what indeed is in that letter? The council folk do not deign to share yet. Oh no, they simply must mutter cryptic things to each other as if lesser beings are not there. And they must do it while neglecting the stew! Hmph. Hjalmarr leans forward. "And what does Aztryd's Elvish king propose that shocks you, Fafnir?" he grumbles.
Adelsteinn looks around the group and says, "In summary, this letter says King Olwe, who had sheltered Aztryd, has offered us all not only help but a home.." he turns to Aztryd. "Why would he do this?
> Next
Nasi's brow is furrowed with concern as he makes his way back to the remains of Gamilfûn. He glances up at the clear twilight sky as he draws his cloak closer about him against the chill of the approaching evening. The days were warming but the nights still held the bite of frost to them. Spring was normally such a joyous time with everyone glad to see the end of the snows and the first green buds as the world awoke from its winter slumber. But spring was not a good time for a forager. Far better if it were summer when fruit were ripe and the game fat and plentiful. This was the second day now he had gone out to forage with no success, and it worried him.
Nasi's glance was caught by movement ahead, and for a moment he was hopeful it was a stray animal seeking to raid the slim pickings in the settlement kitchen gardens. But no, it was the newcomer. Aztryd? Yes that was her name. Now what had her scampering inside with such urgency, he wondered for a moment. He shrugs as he continues on up the stone steps and into the dark interior. It was none of his business after all.
Fafnir watches Adelstein as he walks back to the table and sit down upon the wooden bench. His lips curls for a moment, and he reaches up to push a strand of limp brown hair from his brow, out of his eyes. Only a few kegs of ale left. Do we drink ourselves into better fortune? Fafnir thinks. He picks up the salt cellar and seasons the stew nonetheless. He reaches for the pepper mill and grinds some pepper over the pot. Salt, yes, season the stew. Fafnir reaches over and pulls apart another bite of the warm, fresh bread. We should season it with chicken, too, or beef, but leeks and potatoes and carrots will have to do. The patrol is missing, and there is no fresh meat for the pot. He dare not tap into their stores anymore than is necessary. The inventory was not meant to tide the population without fresh supplies coming in, and without their patrol, he does not know how they would make do. Old Hjalmarr would hardly bother to hunt, and Fafnir doubts the old dwarf could bring down more than feather, and that if left upon the ground. And Eilif? She could barely see her fingers were she to wiggle them before her face. Adelsteinn? No, unless kegs of ale are considered wild game in any part of the known world, Adelsteinn is no hunter. But if mead took wings or developed hooves..well, Adelsteinn would shame the most skilled of huntsmen, Fafnir had no doubt. That left the mother, himself...and Nasi.
The smell of the stew makes Hjalmarr's stomach grumble. He envies small Nizl, making a messy goo of her bread, who does not have to wait for the proper meal to be ready. It is hard, he thinks, to be a young one who must wait on the wishes of adults for every need, but at the same time, brave young Nizl can smile in blissful ignorance of dragons and war. He eyes the bread upon the table and the size of the pot of soup, and calculates how much will be left over after they have all eaten and set some aside for the injured in the pantry. "Aye," he says to Adelstein, "small spices improve the dish far out of proportion to their size. One appreciates them more in times such as this." He looks about the mostly-empty kitchen. "Is this all that come to eat, tonight? Had we not a few returning from patrol?"
Adelsteinn stares morosely into his empty mug waiting for dinner. He thinks again about the limited quantity of ale in the cellar. He should be the one to drink it, and perhaps it will help him think better on what to do. He looks up at Hjalmarr and nods. "Spices do make the flavour. The patrol should be back by now," he says as he looks worried at the door.Aztryd dashes back down the corridor, hampered by her armload of dry woolens, stumbling occasionally over bits of fallen rubble, yet far too excited to move slowly. She dumps the clothing on a spare table in the kitchen, and rushes over to Adelsteinn. "Elder," she pants, "a swan just brought us a message, from King Olwe, the king of the elves, the ones I was visiting." She hands him the parchment, now crumpled and sweaty from her clutching. "Elwing must have gotten word to him after all ... " She stops babbling only because she is out of air, and looks at Adelsteinn with excitement.
Fafnir whirls around at the dwarven mother's noisy entrance but bites back the sharp remark he was to make as she dumps her clothes atop a table and rushes over to the elder, extending to him a bit of parchment. Ladle in hand, his eyes catch sight of the stone mason, noting the way he kept his gaze locked upon the floor, and Fafnir's eyes go immediately to the sack in his hand. Empty, it was too limp to have anything, and when Nasi ducks into the pantry, Fafnir knows he was right. With one ear, he listens to Aztryd go on and on about elves, but his eyes watch Nasi as he brings his gaze up to meet Fafnir's. Forcing a small smile to his lips, he keeps his tone careless and light. "No worry, handsome, " he answers. "For though the turnips fled at the battle, I won the war with the carrots and took the onions hostage. And thus we have a victor's feast in this stew as we hear Aztryd's news." He gives a slow wink and then turns his attention back to the pot, taking the ladle and spooning the meatless stew into bowls. "So, this Old-way," he says as he continues to prepare the bowl. "What message has he for us? Perhaps he means to send us swans for our stews in the future, and the bird was more thoughtful of its life than our stomachs?"
With a surprised face, Adelsteinn takes the note from Aztryd and reads it quietly. As he reads, his face looks even more surprised, and all thoughts of the ale shortage fall from his mind. He glances at Aztryd who is panting excitedly. He then beckons Fafnir over and holds the note towards him with an expression like he is looking for a response from him. "No swans for our stews, but..." his voice cuts off as if he wants Fafnir to read first.Hjalmarr smiles behind his beard at Fafnir's tale of vanquishing the vegetables. It is kind of him to save face for the hunter. Such kindnesses may beget lifelong friendships in such dire straits as they are now in; many a Dwarven warrior can attest to that. He ceases to consider the relationship between the two younger Dwarves, however, as Nizl's mother arrives in a flurry of words and laundry. News? From the Elves? Had not that Elf of Aztryd's only just left these two days past? He strains to hear any possible whisperings between those gathered over the note. It is much too far away for him to read. "Such adventures you bring us, Nizl," he murmurs, feeding her another crust of bread to keep her from throwing herself off his lap in search of her mother.
Her eyes glowing with excitement, Aztryd bounces over to Hjalmarr, and holds out her hands toward Nizl. "I hope she wasn't any trouble," she says to the old jeweler, as she brushes bits of soggy bread out of Nizl's hair. "See, magpie," she croons to the baby, nodding toward the Elder and the parchment, "Lady Elwing didn't forget us after all!"
Nasi's cheeks dimple, and he ducks his head shyly to hide the pleased smile at the kindness of Fafnir's words. Or was it the wink that set his cheeks flushing so hotly? Grateful for the swarthiness of his complexion, he coughs nervously and runs his fingers through his hair as he takes a seat at the table, taking care to sit where he can discreetly watch the tall dwarf as he approaches the Elder. Now what was on that piece of paper, he wonders, to have both the mother and the Elder so excited?. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he watches the others with interest.Fafnir sets the ladle down in an empty bowl, at the master brewer's summons, his eyes peering carefully at Adelsteinn's face, catching his surprise but no clue as to the contents of the message. Giving his vest--the one he wore when Ulreg became the lord of their settlement-- a tug,, he straightens up and walks over to the Elder, his mind busy. He trusts me, Fafnir realizes, and the thought makes him stand that much straighter. Reaching out, he takes the letter from Adelstein and holds it with both hands, his lips silently moving as he reads the contents. His brown eyes widen, and he looks up and at Adelsteinn and then at Aztryd.
"This...this Olwe..." he rolls the name around, the sound of it foreign to his ears. "He would do this?" He looks back down at the letter and then sits down upon the bench as though his legs had no more strength. "Why, by the great horned beard of the Maker, would he bother to do this?" He catches Aztryd's remark about the elf who left them and favors her with a wicked smile. "And here I thought she was put off by the simple fare we had to offer her, she being an elf and all."
"Never, never let anyone see you are caught by surprise," the crafty older dwarf, Ulreg, once told him. Just that once, when Fafnir entered civil service and was congratulated by the crusty old dwarf himself on his very first day. "Never let them know you are caught unawares. Now, bring me ale, my boy, and get to work."
Hjalmarr surrenders Nizl, not without some small regret (though he will be glad to have his hands free for dinner). "Nay, she has been no trouble. Adventuresome and well-behaved--no wonder you could take her to the courts of Elvish kings." And what indeed is in that letter? The council folk do not deign to share yet. Oh no, they simply must mutter cryptic things to each other as if lesser beings are not there. And they must do it while neglecting the stew! Hmph. Hjalmarr leans forward. "And what does Aztryd's Elvish king propose that shocks you, Fafnir?" he grumbles.
Adelsteinn looks around the group and says, "In summary, this letter says King Olwe, who had sheltered Aztryd, has offered us all not only help but a home.." he turns to Aztryd. "Why would he do this?
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