Played by:
AelKennyr Rhiano
BelenosStormchaser Magic
Shawn Daysleeper
'What would we do?" the Elder had asked. If they did not go to Alqualonde, what would they do? Return the ruins of Gamilfun and starve? It wasn't just that their home had been destroyed, but so many, oh Maker, how many of their clan had been taken too. They could not rebuild alone. At the very least they needed a ready supply of food and shelter, and as much as it irked her to admit it, this was something they were now going to have to rely on Outsiders for. She glances around the wide avenue as she turns down the path to the Inn, her gaze roaming the locals as they went about their business. Outsiders. Reaching her hand out to open the door, she jumps back a little, startled, as it vanishes magically upon her touch. She still has not accustomed herself to how this door works, and she mutters to herself about Outsiders and their foolishness. What was wrong with good solid oak doors?
((..she jumps back.. what was wrong with good solid.. doors?))
Fafnir lifts the wooden mug and turns away from the huge fireplace at which the meals of the tavern are prepared, his amber eyes catching the gaze of the blonde-haired elf who was wiping down the bar. He gives a short nod, and says to the elf, "Very good. Another one, please, for my companion who will be down shortly."
((Fafnir lifts the wooden mug..))
Without waiting to see the elf's reaction, he turns back to the fire, the sizzling and crackling of the logs a merry, homely sound. If he closes his eyes and breathes in, he can make the smell of fat burning off the grate, from where the ham had been just pulled off, served on a platter and awaits, just behind him, ready for he and his clan to fall upon it. There is the smell of hickory wood as it is consumed by the greedy flames, and the scorched smell of stew , where it has gone too long unstirred. There is the smell of turnips, cooked down, and cabbage, and a strong hot tea, and mulled wine, for the nights can still turn cool. If he closes his eyes, here in the relative emptiness of the tavern, he can breathe in all the different smells...and pretend it is Gamilfun, not a foreign elven town, in which he is a refugee.
He feels a puff of wind on his cheek, and a new smell enters upon the breeze, the salt of the sea. The call of seabirds mingle with the chatter of the fire, and Fafnir opens his eyes. Someone has come in. Eilif.
((Someone has come in. Eilif.))
Eilif pauses a moment just inside the door. After the noonday brightness of the sun on the water, the Inn is dimly lit. She sighs with relief, for even the smallest familiarities from her former life gives her pleasure now. "If dwarves were meant to be out and about in bright light, the Maker would have given us homes ON the mountain tops, not under them," she mutters to herself and then glances around the room. As was usual at this time of day, it was relatively empty, although she knew others would arrive soon enough, driven by hungry bellies and dry throats. An elf stands behind the too tall bar, busily cleaning, or pretending to, and yes, there by the fire is Fafnir. Pleased to see someone not only familiar but whom she likes, she wanders over to join him.
((..she wanders over to join him...))
Fafnir watches as Eilif crosses the room and joins him before the fire, her face hidden in the shadows of the hood she wears in public. A frown is chased away by a smile, and he extends his own mug of ale to her. "It is not as strong or as woodsy as you probably would like," He says, speaking to her low, in the language of their people. "But it is not bad, not bad. And it will wash the salt out of your mouth." He watches her as he offers, the smile still there, though his amber eyes are watchful. Beside them the fire pops and discourses on all things combustible, and the quiet coolness of the tavern caresses the side of their bodies turned away from the blaze. He lifts his eyes up to the door, watching, waiting to see if she is followed in by the Master Brewer himself.
((..he extends his own mug of ale..))
Eilif pushes her hood back from her head as she joins Fafnir by the fire. Here in the tavern at least, she could do without it, and it was a relief to be free of it. She accepts the offered mug from Fafnir with a whispered, "Is anything as we like in this place, my friend?" She smiles her thanks to him and nods towards the nearby table, laden with plentiful food yes, but so high as to be nearly up to her chin, and the benches were up to her waist. But to Eilif, it seems it is not the quality of ale or their accommodation that brought the wary look to the young dwarf's eyes. She watches him thoughtfully over the rim of her mug as she sips on the insipid brew.
Fafnir looks up and over Eilif's head, and his head tilts up just a bit, a gesture he is making without conscious thought now, as the inhabitants of this elven city are all much taller then even he. "Here, I will order us a round of their stoutest. It is supposed to put hair on the chest. I suggested one night to Aztryd that perhaps a nip might ensure little lampkin will have more than peach fuzz when she is a comely fine figure of a dwarf, but I fear she was not warm to my suggestion. "He glances down at her, giving Eilif his most earnest look before looking up and over at the elf tending bar. "Hey, you...erm.." He struggles and tries to say the elf's name just exactly as the elf had instructed him, but even after 20 minutes of concentrated effort, Fafnir found the word had too many vowels and rounding consonants. "Speak, friend," he calls out to the elf in a light and bantering tone, "and say you will forbear to bring the gentle, good lady and I two rounds of that marvelous brew that helps expand the lungs and fill the stomach." He drops his voice and whispers in their own tongue. "I have observed they respond much better if it sounds like you actually think the brew is incredibly delightful as opposed to one step up from horse urine." He turns and gestures to the table. "Will you sit for me? I await Nasi, and we hope to break our fast with a noontide meal. I know he would want you to join us." He stops and then dips his head, adding, "As, of course, would I."
Eilif dips her own head in turn to hide her smile at Fafnir's struggle with the elven language. She remembers well the same stumblings when she first came to Mithlond with her father, but his scowls of disgust at her clumsy tongue meant she soon mastered the words, even if it had meant she'd lain late into the night reciting the strange sounds until she had them just right. Now, though, she suspects Fafnir has other things to occupy his thoughts late at night. She doubts the elven language crosses his mind at all at such a time. With a murmured, "Thank you, I shall, although these benches ought come with a mounting block such as the stables provide." with effort she settles herself on a bench and then adds, "Adelstienn shall be along to join us shortly too. He's just checking with the Harbour Master for news of Olwe."
She moves past him, to the table and struggles atop the bench. Adelsteinn! How casually she bandies about his name! For a brief second as she is making herself as comfortable as one may, with one's legs dangling off the side of a wide wooden plank, several inches off the ground, his eyes narrow, as his lips purse. Together, they are together all the time, he thinks. Smoothly he walks over to join her and settles next to her on the bench. Leaning over, he whispers, "Service like this, no wonder the day's business is slack. He is nothing like the comely elf who is here in the evening. Now she bustles." He turns his head and bobs it in direction of the cook fire,"Nor does she scorch the soups and broths."
((There were shadows there.))
Eilif turns to look into the amber eyes of the tall dwarf sitting next to her. There were shadows there, secrets, swimming beneath the light merriment the same as there were creatures of the deep swimming beneath the shining waters of the harbour. Keeping her tone as carefully light as his, she teased him a little, "Comely elf? Here was I thinking our valiant stonemason held your heart, and now am I finding that an elf wench has turned your head?"
"Holds my heart and shares my bed," Fafnir answers smoothly. There are no secrets in the common room, where above them were beds were lined in rows; cots as well, all wood and canvas. The mattress were clean and well stuffed, the wood of the beds polished until they shine, and smelling of lemons and hyssops, but still wood creaks under the weight of the human merchant with too many chins and too few teeth, breath stinking of onions and sweat stale as sour buttermilk. Nightly snoring comes from where Hjalmarr sleeps, and the sounds of someone getting up and laying back time, over and over, during the night has the young dwarf thinking that must be Aztryd tending Nizl.
(("The elves are..gossamer compared to dross."))
The elves are stately, gossamer compared to dross," He says, far more seriously than he has intended. "I look at them, their large, shining eyes, their silken hair, their grace, their gestures, and I wonder if the Maker got bored when he created the Fathers, and instead of finishing them, place them upon a shelf, half formed." He picks up a fork and twirls it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger.
Eilif nods her head thoughtfully as she listens. Yes, there it was, one of the shadows flashes to the surface as Fafnir speaks, his word suddenly serious after the gaiety of a moment ago. She nods at the plates laid before them, "It is good to have such variety of foods, is it not? The crispness of the spring greens, the hearty flesh of the beasts, even there, the sweet melting delight of the pastries and cream. By the Maker after our recent deprivations, such things go down well. But what would it be like, I wonder if there were only one type of food? Only spring greens, or only meat, or only one sweet thing? Would it not wear thin and become dull after a while? Aye, the elves are fair enough in their way, but methinks the Maker knew well what he was doing when he made us." She lifts her eyes from the plate and turns them again to the young dwarf, "Do you really think Nasi half made, the result of a bored Vala?"
((She nods at the plates laid before them.))
Fafnir looks across the table at the different food set before them. Even in Gamilfun, before the Attack-- that is how they all think of it, he feels, the Attack, that one event that will forever define them--even there, in the midst of summer with the bounty of game and garden, their repast was meager in comparison to what is if offered here nightly. He carefully puts the fork back down on the table as somewhere upstairs, someone is taken with a fit of coughing. He works his jaw a moment, and then, looking up and over at Eilif, he says,"Often at night, I gaze upon his face, and I imagine that it was not Aule's hammer that beat stone into shape to create my Nasi, but a whispered word from Yavanna herself. He is more tree than rock, my Nasi. Firm as the earth, yes, and tongue heavy as the Maker's anvil at times, but his soul whispers of things green, and his path in this world has more tree than boulder in it."
(("He is more tree than rock, my Nasi."))
He shakes himself. This was NOT the conversation he wishes to have with Eilif. He turns toward the elf behind the bar and cranes his head around to see what the elf was doing. "Dross or silk, a snail moves with more purpose than that one." He tries once, to get the elf's attention and then turns back to Eilif. "So," he says, cautiously, "still in all, we are fortunate to be here, among such...finery, " he gestures absently with a wave of his hand. "Adelsteinn has led us well, I think. It must be lonely, to lead us, make the difficult decisions. Very lonely."
Eilif plays with the braid of her beard and narrows her eyes thoughtfully, sure there was more left unsaid than had been said. "Aye, it has been lonely for him, carrying alone a role normally meant to be shared by others." She pauses a moment, looking down at her injured arm, flexing the fingers gingerly. At least they still move, but will the arm have strength once the bandages were removed? Will it be straight and true as it needs to be?
(("Much of what was normal.. has changed, Fafnir."))
Without looking up she continues. "Much of what was normal for us has changed, Fafnir. We are no longer Adelstienn the elder, or Nasi the stonemason, or Fafnir the courtier or Eilif the weaponsmith, all doing our own separate things. This.. this thing that has happened to us has changed that. Now we are Adelstienn the elder AND Nasi the stonemason, AND Fafnir the courtier AND Eilif the weaponsmith. We must all meld together like the ore in my smelter if we are to become strong again and survive this. Adelstienn cannot be left to carry it all alone."
Fafnir tilts his head a little as she speaks, his gaze drawn to her arm as she looks down at it and wiggles her fingers. It is not missed how she speaks of Adelsteinn, nor the tone of her voice, but what does it mean, he asks himself. He has watched her all this time they have been in Mitholond. He has marked the quality of her clothes; serviceable, well-made, tailored, the bands holding her beard. Even with the scar on her face, she is a comely dwarf, strong and sure and not unpleasant to look at. "It is true, what you say," he says cautiously, "that Adelsteinn should not be left alone to bear the burden of our further existence." He gives a sigh and looks over at Eilif with a grave expression of concern. "I would help him if I could, and, indeed, at the start of this trek, it seems I was of some small service." He gives another deep sigh and reaches for a tankard of very warm ale. "But these days, it seems I cannot be of use to our Master Brewer. My words are as cheap as that odious fish they chop up at day's end, the one that did not sell, and so they feed it to other fish the next day. Fish, feeding fish." He shrugs his shoulder. "But what to do?"
(("I would help him if I could.."))