Lamedon Square Market

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As Erchan ambled back to Fea's shop, taking the longest way in order to secretly enjoy the biscuit he was quite sure Fea did not see him take, his stopped suddenly when he saw two men leaning against each other, both propped and sleeping against a wall.

Minas Anor was full of nooks where roads crossed, archways met walls, or where the architecture simply allowed for places for secrets to hide. In this little hollow, the two men seemed hidden, but only just. In the dark of night, they would have been all but invisible. In the early morning light, still silvery and cold, they were quite apparent, and Erchan wondered if he should fetch Captain Formy. Except that Old Bertie was still right around the corner, and wouldn't thank Erchan one bit for drawing the attention of the Guard in this direction.

Perhaps he should tell Mistress Feane? Even though she was just a baker, Erchan knew she was more than that, somehow. To him, she was the Queen of the Lower City, not that he would ever say such a thing. He had seen Queen Evenstar sometimes, at special events. Okay, he admitted, just that once, but she was beautiful, she was, and he meant no disrespect, but there was ruling a kingdom, and then there was ruling a community, and it wasn't the same, nor would it ever be.

One of the men wriggled a bit and Erchan stood there watching. The man cracked his back and Erchan saw he had a bruised eye. They were fighters! What if they were dangerous? He looked behind him, and Bertie was still there, savoring his breakfast. Erchan knew that if he shouted, Captain Formy would come right quick, but somehow he didn't think he should yell.

The man with the bruised eye looked around, bleary and confused. Suddenly he pounded on his companion. "Bran, Bran get up."

"What?" the other man moaned.

"Get up, you fool, Brinn is going to kill us."

Killing? Erchan ran full pelt back to Fea's stall, dropping the rest of his biscuit. As the boy disappeared around the corner, a small mouse darted forth to snag his own fresh baked breakfast.

[Anguirel]

There were more than a couple of hangovers in the Market Square that morning.

A wagon carrying supplies to the drapier's shop trundled its way in, and disgorged some unusual cargo. A slightly built young fellow, in expensive satin clothes of yellow and blue, put a couple of silver tharni into the drover's hand as he slipped off his seat beside him, and began to stride, unsteadily enough, in the direction of the bakery.

Angelimar of Edhellond was going to need an excellent breakfast indeed to unravel the evening before the morning after with anywhere near enough accuracy to boast about it the evening after the said morning. Some kind of meat would be good, but first a roll was even more essential. He was not usually either in the Square at this time of day or particularly interested in buying bread, but everyone knew Mistress Feane; in his case he had occasionally ordered elaborate cakes to impress (usually lady-) friends.

So when he reached the Risen Loaf, it was in a rallied tone - not quite clear of grogginess, but basically enthusiastic - that he greeted its proprietress...

"Morning, milady Fea. Lovely morning it is. Well, isn't really for me, but the point stands. Could y'get me a loaf about the dimension and softness of a pillow to make it feel any better?"

[Envinyatar]

Bertie shambled a little ways away from the market site, heading for The Compass Rose Inn. More of a dive, really. Its faded sign swung from one rusted chain, the other having been yanked off one night by a bearishly big sailor fellow just off ship and itching to give the first one who crossed him a beating. Or so the story went. Most likely it had just pulled out of the rotten beam from which it hung and was now suffering from the same general neglect as the rest of the place.

But the rotgut there was strong and cheap.

And One-Eyed Gorm was none too particular about his custom as long as they paid and took their fights out to the yard. The first he fully enforced; the second he was less rigorous about, especially those nights he felt himself in need of busting a few heads with his oak club just to keep in practice.

Before Bertie could get to this fine establishment he was knocked over by two small tornados hurtling down the footway. His crutch went skittering a ways along the packed dirt and his foot went flying out from under him.

'You tickle-brained flap-dragons!' he yelled out, casting a rheumy eye on the twins. 'Now look what you've done!'

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Morning, milady Fea. Lovely morning it is. Well, isn't really for me, but the point stands. Could y'get me a loaf about the dimension and softness of a pillow to make it feel any better?"

Fea had sold Angelimar a loaf, but in the bustle had become distracted. With the actors having shifted onward, she turned her attention back to him.

"Is that quite sufficient?" she asked, "Or will you be needing anything else?"

[piosenniel]

Garan was mortified at the sight of Bertie sprawled in the dirt. He like the old soldier, called him ‘Uncle’, and bedeviled him whenever he could to tell stories about his time in the Great War. He ran to fetch Bertie’s crutch. ‘Didn’t see you, Uncle! Sorry, sorry . . .’ he repeated several times, attempting to dust Bertie’s raggedy coat front off as the man stood up.

Goran, for his part, was bent over with laughter - tickle-brained indeed by the very idea of a “flap-dragon”. ‘Oh, that was a good one, Uncle!’ he chuckled, collecting himself enough at last to go help his brother try to leverage Bertie to a standing position.

[Anguirel]

The young reveller took the healthily sized loaf with eager gratitude, and broke off a corner of the top at once, the better to examine the fluffy pallour of its interior...

"You've excelled yourself as ever, madam. Perfect. Oh yes, actually; you know I'm not usually down here when the day's so nearly started, but I'm trying to get a breakfast together; so could you tell me where the best butcher in this square is? And even maybe where I could find myself some mustard?"

Angelimar had overpaid her a little, not commenting and indeed as if by accident; for certainly this young man liked to be liked...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Ah, well, there's nothing so easy as one best, I'm afraid," Fea responded with a smile. "Bill is best with birds, Charl is best with domestic beasts, and if you've an eye for game, then there's a fellow that comes in around lunch time. Looks a bit seedy, but he's good people and hunts his own, and takes only the best. Mustard? I've not seen any around for some time, but there is a new man from up Bree-ways, says he'll be in town for the week. Sells spices and such. He would be your best bet, but I make no promises."

[Envinyatar]

‘Careful now! These threads are a might fragile.’ Bertie balanced precariously on his crutch as he fended off Garan’s attempts to dust off his coat. He patted his pockets, making sure his various objects of value were still safely within. When he reached the side pocket in which he’d stashed his morning roll from the bakery, he reached into it. Disappointment met his fingers as they curled about a rather mashed bun. He pulled it out, noting the ground in pocket rubble covering the flattened surface.

‘Well, there goes my breakfast, boys.’ The roll crumbled apart and rolled off his palm in several chunks. ‘I guess it’s nothing but pigeon grub now,’ he finished, eyeing the trio of bedraggled looking birds that were eyeing him in return as they crept closer to the bready treat.