findsthesun | Practice! With Wellard

Practice! With Wellard

A young Elf*, dressed in sturdy green and brown cloth and soft leather shoes, walks into the bar.

It can, perhaps, be forgive if his first reaction is wariness and his hand flicks towards the white handled knife at his belt.

Then he laughs.

"A tavern of Men, in the middle of the forest? I have not heard tell of this."

*see (here) for description of Elves, and Legolas in particular.

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Octavian notes the grace, but says nothing about it. He rarely comments on something like that unless it suits him. His smile remains easy as he absently taps the hilt of the sword at his sie

He watches Legolas closely, the grief in Legolas' voice earning a raised eyebrow. "It's not so bad," he comments. "It's rather beautiful, in its own way--and as long as you can see the door, you can always go back, without time passing for you in your world and time. It may be at the end, but it has a kind of permanence."

"It is beautiful," he agrees, softly, looking away from the window and sitting down.

He glances again at Octavian, curious--naturally, and to distract himself. "I am Legolas, of the Great Forest--that which Men call Mirkwood. Where is it that you are from?"

Octavian tilts his head a little, considering the best answer.

"A country called Alera," he says finally. "On a world known as Carna. You wouldn't know the more... twisted details of my origins."

After a moment of deep thought, he holds out a hand. "I'm Tavi. You should order a drink--the first one's free."

Legolas leans forward and clasps his forearm. "We are well-met."

He laughs. "That is needed, perhaps, in such an unexpected place. What is it that this tavern stocks, Tavi?"

"Well-met indeed," Tavi says with a warm smile.

It's been too long since he had anyone besides the ones he already knew in the Bar who treat him as anything other than...

Well. Tavi also laughs a little. "I wouldn't know what you would wish for. I suggest you ask the Bar, and if she has it, she'll provide it. Bar, my regular, if you will? And some bread and oil." It quite conveniently appears.

Legolas watches this, curious, running a hand over the Bar as if to see if there are secret Dwarven devices in it; finding none, he smiles cheerfully down at the service.

"My lady Bar, would you be so kind as to provide me with Dorwinion? I am sure any vintage you choose would be more than sufficient." He pauses, slightly, a mischievious glint in his eye, "It would be a kindness to me beyond measure if you could provide a small wineskin of it; I have not had the pleasure of the king's wine cellar for weeks, and I am unlikely to until I return."

The Bar seems to pause, thoughtfully, and then provides the wineskin and drinking bowl--already full of deep red wine.

Legolas beams, at the latter--a fair strange thing it is to find it, outside of the Forest. "My many thanks!"

He turns to Tavi, placing the winekskin down with his quiver. "If you wish to try some, you need only ask."

Tavi watches the process with amusement, dipping his bread in the oil an beginning to eat as he does. One eyebrow goes up a little at the long request.

"Well now," he says after a moment with a grin, "if you have to go to the trouble of getting into the king's cellar for it, I don't think I can pass up the opportunity."

And then, as he pushes his flagon aside for the moment and an empty glass appears for him, he adds, "Besides, I have a friend who would never forgive me if I lost such an opportunity."

Up comes the wineskin, again, and Legolas opens it swiftly, pouring a full draught into the glass, before closing it again.

"It is potent," Legolas says, cheerfully, "but there is good reason why the king goes to great lengths to purchase it. There is no wine better in Middle-Earth."

If Legolas doesn't know from personal experience, he trusts Thranduil's. The king is pretty discerning about wine. He takes a sip from the drinking bowl, and seems to approve of the Bar's choice of vintage.

With the practised ease of someone with years of experience with fine wines, Tavi takes a moment to swirl the wine and sniff it, before giving Legolas an admiring glance. It's funny, too, because he looks like he's in his twenties.

And he sips his wine carefully, closing his eyes with an expression of quiet, appreciative bliss. "I can tell why he would," he says after a moment, with a smile. "Would you happen to know how they manage to grow the grapes? I'd like to see if maybe it would be possible in Acquitaine or Calderon Valley."

Subtle but there: a hint that he has a certain amount of power.

"I have never been to Dorwinion," Legolas replies, regretfully. "But it is a land to the north west of a large inland sea. It might be that which gives its soil such qualities."

He laughs. "But thank you, I now have a task I must set myself to. Perhaps he will give me leave to explore it someday--it lies along the Celduin, which runs through our forest. I can say that I aim to see if I might find him a lower price."

"My most sincere apologies, Master Rat," Legolas says, apparently sincere. "I did not wish to overburden you." He then glances to Wellard, and smirks. Any sort, do they? "Master Rat," he tells Ivan, "would it be taxing your hospitality to ask for a small wineskin of Dorwinion and a glass? I have not seen the king’s cellars in weeks, and I am not likely to for a few more."

To Wellard: "You are welcome to share with me, if you wish."

"Then perhaps I took this from his majesty's own store?" Glorfindel asks in return, utterly innocent, holding up a flagon.

There is no guile in those sunny blue eyes.

Laughter, yes.

And stars, of course.

And there's that whole 'older than the current land formation' thing.

But definitely not guile.

Legolas laughs.

"He will not be pleased with you," he says, though he's a little confused.

He glances--somewhere, and notices the observation window for the first time, knuckles going white on the back of the couch.

"Ai," he says softly, "what is this place?"

And here Ivan thought Legolas was going to ask for something hard. He turns on his heels and scurries off.

Wellard continues to look on with amusement-

Before looking back at Legolas, and quickly shaking his head.

"I- I mean no offense by it, and I do thank you for your offer. But I rather prefer not to drink."

Legolas smiles at him, "Do not worry over it," he glances around the room. "Did you have a place you were sitting, or should we find a table?"

Now, let's not believe that Glorfindel wouldn't gleefully tease the young prince right now. While he certainly doesn't hold the violent dislike some Noldorians do towards their Sindarian cousins, he does think they're delightfully easy to tease.

But he's not a cruel elf.

"Nowhere near the circles of Arda, so far as I can tell." He replies instead, calmly. "Though I will admit, I have never found a very satisfactory explanation."

Legolas looks back to him, and nods.

He lets out the breath, says "All right," and tries to smile, slightly.

Then: "Could you spare some of that?"

"No." Glorfindel replies, simply.

There's a rather long pause, while Glorfindel gives Legolas a blankly innocent look.

"I can order you some, however."

He motions over to a table, complete with a couple books, paper, pen, and (we can never forget) a cup of tea.

"I had been working on a few things before you arrived- though usually, the idea of doing any sort of work down here leaves one open to interruptions and distractions."

Meaning, he would have stayed up in his room had he not been open to the idea if interruptions and distractions.

"That is a fair point," Legolas agrees, takes off his quiver (an unstrung bow in dark wood is in it, with the arrows) and manages to make it look graceful, and sits at what looks to be the chair across from where Wellard had been sitting, setting his quiver carefully on the floor.

"Does this place so often show up in your path, then?" He asks, curious.

Legolas can't help it: he laughs.

"A tavern not in the circles of Arda with access to Dorwinion. It is good, then, that my liege has never come here--he would be never leave."

And then Legolas would have to be king.

"If you would be so kind."

Tavi throws back his head and laughs richly. "That may just work," he says merrily. Truthfully, he hasn't had a chance to relax quite like this in a while--it's been a busy week.

"In my experience, anything which can cut back on spending tends to attract a ruler's attention almost immediately." He smiles wryly. "And if you can get a nice trip out of it, so much the better. May I ask what your kingdom is like?" He takes another sip. Politics is never far from Octavian's mind.

"Not only have they Dorwinion," Glorfindel drawls, waving over one of the rats, "They have vintage from 3248, which I believe is a particular favorite of the royal court, though the last of in your father's cellars is most likely going sour, if it still exists."

The rat, taking the hint (and the coin Glorfindel has made appear from thin air), scurries off to get that particular vintage.

"You may," Legolas answers, mischievously, and take a drink of Dorwinion.

Tavi rolls his eyes, smiling a little.

"Remind me never to introduce you to Max. He'd start teaching you about 'sacred rights' and I'd never hear the end of it. What is your kingdom like?"

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Practice! With Wellard

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