((This is assuming nothing overly dramatic happens whilst gathering my men and setting off...))
The tavern, a simple, two-story affair somewhere along the road from Preston to Miring, was noisy, and crowded, almost bursting at the seams with a motley assortment of scared refugees, rowdy soldiers and noisy, gossipping citizens, mostly drunk.
Trubaldsome had, after some agitated negotiation with the unimpressed tavernkeeper, had eventually managed to secure himself, Waery and three of his soldiers a small private room off from the commons, whilst the rest of the regiment joined in on the ruckus outside.
Waery groaned wearily, stretching his aching legs. He wasn't as young as he used to be; such a long time in the saddle was a lot more tiring than it had been back in the old days, and he idly wondered if the climate of Elbreth was to blame.
He put aside these thoughts as a pretty young waitress brought in some wine. He was a little worried about his Lord... He hadn't been himself for some time now, acting more and more edgy than ever; Waery wasn't about to put down such dramatic changes merely to Trubaldsome's use of snuff.
Hopefully the drinks would ease the young prince's frayed temper.
Trubaldsome remained silent, sniffing appraisingly at his cup before taking a sip as Waery ordered their meals, and the three young soldiers chatted quietly amongst themselves. Eventually the waitress nodded, tucked the wooden serving tray under her arm and left, Trubaldsome's eyes following her posterior through the door.
"Ah, so, M'Lord," Said Waery at length, breaking a silence, "Ye decided not t' ask that Yl Marchis fellow for troops, like yer was plannin' t'other week? Ah mean, with th' trouble in Miring an' the bandits an' all..." He trailed off.
Trubaldsome had just taken a sip of his drink as he began speaking, and now was staring wide-eyed at Waery, sitting bolt-upright in his chair at the head of the small, bare wood table.
". . . . . .Waery!!"
Trubaldsome let loose a shriek of frustration, spraying wine across the table and shocking the soldiers into bug-eyed silence. One even fell off his chair at the unexpected outburst, hurriedly picking himself up lest he become a target for his Lord's ire.
"Waery," Trubaldsome was saying, eyes fixed on the unfortunate Waery as he grimaced, "How could you forget such a simple, yet vitally important thing!" He was speaking through gritted teeth, the whites of his eyes showing.
"I told you to notify Aulon, did I not?!" Waery knew Trubaldsome had done so such thing, but was disinclined to point that out, instead saying, calmly, "I'm sorry M'Lord, s'pose it slipped me mind or summat. I'll 'ave a messenger sent back t' the camp at once, if yer wish." "You do that, Waery." Trubaldsome's face was still twisted in annoyance, but he was interrupted as the door banged open, allowing in a burst of raucous laughter from the busy common room as the harried-looking waitress returned, improbably balancing two trays of steaming hot foot in her hands. Trubaldsome turned on the charm, replacing his furious scowl with a suave smile.
"Thankyou my dear, ah yes, roast lamb, potato and pumpkin... You have done magnificently indeed! Might I compliment your ever-so-fine establishment?" He reached a sly hand toward her thigh as she placed his plate on the table before him, but she avoided it with a deftness born from working in a tavern all her adult life. "Yer welcome, sirs," She said drily, then with a quick curtsey was back out the door, leaving Waery, along with the three soldiers, hurriedly concentrating on the food as their Lord glowered.
After the meal, have Waery go write a letter to Aulon, requesting his aid in getting Prince P. Trubaldsome on the throne of Miring.
Put a messenger on a fast horse and send 'em back to deliver it, with orders to hand it to Aulon and Aulon alone.
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Topic: You are King! (Spring 315a) (Read 188787 times)