[Kransha]

Kransha's post

At last, the strenuous conversation had been drawn to a feeble close. Aylwen, much to Osric's happy satisfaction, had agreed to employ young Sigurd as night watchman. She did not seem entirely content for some unknown reason, but that fact did not cling to Osric remotely, for he had succeeded. He felt no swell in optimism or hope, but was at least satisfied by the happenings. He turned, letting Sigurd do the same and looked across the room, scanning it contently from his standing perch. He took several reserved steps, moving around the room as clumps of people began to spring up, swarming over tables, materializing in chairs or on stools, eating, humming, talking, and the like, leaving Osric and Sigurd to their own agendas which they could at last pursue. The old man, muttering inconsequentially to himself, pushed himself tiredly across the room, now turning his eyes down until another's gaze caught him.

It was Bethberry's light glance from the corner of her eye that managed to hook onto Osric as he looked about. She sat comfortably, reclining in a chair across from another man, who looked shadier, more reserved in the way he sat than she. This was dismissible, since Osric already knew Bethberry to be a person with whom reservation was not customary, though she was adept at concealing her nature. For this, Osric thought both less and better of her, but more he thought better, for he had always had a clear spot in him for those who possessed both wit and tact, tempered each with good humor. Osric had known those who possessed such qualities and were sour instead, very dislikable folk. Despite that, the aged Rohirrim could tell from the glances being shot at him every moment or so that Bethberry either desired his company, or was desperately trying to get him to move to one side so she could see something behind him. He decided that, whatever purpose she had in mind, he would proceed with the former. A minute grin peeling over his equally minute frown, he headed over to the table in question.

?Ah, Lady Bethberry,? he said, his voice gentle but with a bite at its back, ?I see you?ve found another newcomer to beleaguer with your wit.? His brightened eyes turned to the other man, looking to him wistfully, but suddenly focused on him, flitting away from his face to look him over swiftly. He was no man, as he?d assumed, but an elf. It had been so long, perhaps too long, since old Osric had taken in the sight of an elf of any sort, as he?d only seen three in his long life. As his feeble memory served, the last had been years ago. The sight of this fellow struck him as a sliver of brilliant golden light in murky shadow. But, before he could drift in meditative reverie, Bethberry?s challenging voice jarred his thoughts.

?Beleaguer with my wit?? she said, still friendly like Osric, but the same air of subtle sarcasm about her, ?You do me wrong, Osric. This ?newcomer? and I both have enough wit about us to talk, rather than besiege each other without need. Perhaps, after your many hardships, you would not mind a conversation.? Osric winced when she emphasized the word ?hardships,? but shrugged it off, knowing her to be toying with his uncharacteristic attitude only in fun. ?Many hardship indeed.? He turned, looking to the elf-man sitting across from him. ?So, who is it that you talk with, hmm??

?He is Umwë, an elf of Rivendell.? Bethberry said politely as the elf nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Osric breathed deeply as he pulled up a chair and fell awkwardly into it. ?I gathered that he was an elf. Such things are not hard to tell.? The elf looked at him, with an expression that might have portrayed offense, but Osric could not tell from the elf?s features. ?For some, it might be, sir.? Umwë said delicately. The Rohirrim realized that, while he thought of tact, he was not being tactful making such statements. He hastily made up for his response and tried to change the conversation?s subject.

?Yes, for some. Hopefully you have not found the people of Rohan to be in that respect.?

?As you said, sir, some are, some are not. But tell me, who are you that has such a knowledge of what folk are Elves and what folk are not? What vast archive do you hail from??

Now it was Osric?s turn to feign offense, as he wasn?t sure whether the elf was being witty, hostile, or completely impartial. He leaned forward in his chair, laying his hand and arm upon another table. His wrinkled fingers rapped energetically on its surface as he introduced himself with less of a flourish than usual. ?I am Osric, son of Oswulf, from the town of Aldburg, a place where Elves are about as common as wingless dragons. What business has an elf in Edoras. Ought you to be at Helm?s Deep??

He was still tactless in his words, and the Elf responded accordingly. ?Not all Elves have their tasks in life appointed them by men, Osric of Aldburg.?

The Rohirrim glared with one eye, but again settled himself and leaned back, his fingers tapping faster, forming an indistinct rhythm. ?Something else I gathered, Master Umwë. What, then, is your reason for being in Edoras. Of all places on this Middle-Earth, Elves frequent the Mark least of all. I had heard your kind fled these shores, so why do you come further in. What do you seek in the Rohan??

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Bethberry's post

Bethberry could barely suppress a hearty guffaw at Osric's question about Helm's Deep, but somehow she managed to maintain an air of interested reserve rather than slapstick humour. She turned from the old Rohirrim towards the elf far from home.

For his part, Umwë sat staring at the old warrior, not sure whether to tighten up the tension a knot or two, or to respond civilly. As he sat, he could hear the bustle of the Great Hall ebb and flow around him and watched the sunbeams skirt around the dust motes in the air. He decided he liked the Inn enough to reply civilly.

"Must one always seek something, of an ulterior motive?" he questioned, looking at Ossric but wishing that Bethberry would enter the discussion.

"It is a long journey from Rivendell to here. Not the kind of ride to be taken lightly, nor without planning and provisions. Unless one were of the frivolous kind, much given to flitting around the land and avoiding honest work."

Umwë would have risen in anger at that, putting aside all thoughts of civility, had a hand not restrained his arm.

"You must make allowances for us, Master Elf. We have had an abundance of worry and excitement this morning, mush rushing and worrying over regal matters and romantic bards, and then anxiety over employment. Our noble warrior Osric is thus inclined at the moment to direct his excess of tension towards the sparing of noble words. Once a warrior, always a warrior."

Osric half snorted at this comment and his lips began to quiver as he exuded little puffs of air, as if this would calm matters somewhat . Bethberry serenely changed the topic of conversation.

"Has Mistress Aylwen decided to hire Sigurd? Has he chosen the role of Night Watchman?"

Osric sat more firmly in his chair, his sense of responsibility now relieved while his sense of honour rose. With a slight bow, he gave an affirmation to the woman?s question.

"And has he made plans for how he should proceed? Will he establish a a regular routine and marching pattern around the Inn? Shall he march with lantern swinging or be guided by moonlight merely?"

Osric looked closely at her eyes as she spoke and thought he could discern an improper hint which lacked decorum, but he decided to dismiss the thought. No sense angering his nephews new employer.

"He shall move swiftly to enforce a healthy surveillance of the Inn and a necessary security of its perimetres," he replied somewhat stiffly.

And so the two, for the elf had lapsed into sullen quietness, passed away the morn in banter.