As Falowik listened to Falco's and Uien's words, he made sure to keep his expression neutral, despite what went on inside. Falco's words were indeed the truth of the matter, at least until Uien. She had changed all of that, which was why he had to be with her now; he was sure that were she to leave, he would turn back to his old ways, whether he wanted to or not.
While Nob provided comic relief with spilled ale, Falowik felt the burden of leadership weighing down upon him, even though it had only been offered and not settled. Can you people not see, he shouted in his own mind, how much better suited to lead is this Thoronmir than I? He heaved a sigh. It seemed to him that it might be best to allow this Ranger to be leader, and to befriend him. That way, he could give counsel, which from a friend would be heeded, if not always followed. And that would be well also, for he knew that his counsel could err disastrously, and probably would. That would serve better than to take the leadership and leave Thoronmir rankled that the better man was not in charge. It would not serve the unity of the group. Better to let the Ranger lead them.
A loud voice shattered his ruminations. It was Butterbur. Falowik kept his head down. "You'd think I could find help that wouldn't trip over their own hairy feet, begging your Masters' pardons. I hope you'll accept my apology for my twist footed Nob. I-" Old Barliman stopped and squinted hard at Falowik. "Now ain't that funny, sir, I could swear I know you from somewhere. Can't place it, not with so much else flitting through my head, but I'm sure I know you. What are you called, sir?"
Falowik kept his face down and his voice low, but honored the man with his eyes cast upward. "I do not think we know each other."
Uien looked at Falowik in consternation, and glancing at her, he thought he could just about read her thoughts. "You told me yourself that this man was your best friend in Bree before you fled, and that at his counsel! Here's a friend, and you act like you don't know him!" Or something like it. Best out with it, old man.
"I am called Falowik Stonewort, sir."
Barliman mouthed the name, his eyes swinging up and to the right, as if rummaging through the attic of his mind, or the Prancing Pony's, for an old memory. Then his eyes lit up. "I remember you! Falowik! You're alive and well after all these years!" Then he turned conspiratorial. "Seeing how the Great War's come and gone, I wager folk have forgotten what they thought those many years ago, especially since it was wrong, mind you." Falowik winced. He needed to get the subject away from himself, and in a hurry.
"I cast my vote for Thoronmir for leader of our group, and hope that the rest of you will do likewise." He turned to Butterbur and smiled apologetically. "You caught us in the throes of business. We'll be leaving in the morning. Are there rooms enough for our party?"
"I'll see to it, Master Falowik! It's good to see you again! We'll have to have a good long talk and catch up on old times, we will, but business first, both yours and mine." He gave them all a proprietary smile and bustled off.
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