findsthesun | Practice! With Wellard

"It was almost as bizarre as finding it in my family's storeroom when I was eleven," a resonant baritone voice says sardonically from behind Legolas.

There's a tall, powerfully built young man, in armor and scarlet cape distinctly Roman in style, with nearly buzz-cut short hair and vibrant green eyes. (Tall by human standards--he's several inches over six feet, though still slightly shorter than Aragorn is, or will be.)

Legolas turns gracefully to face him, and eyes him--curious, very curious, and perhaps a touch wary.

"It is good to find I am not the only one who stumbles on taverns when they expected something else," he admits, walking over to the man. "How comes it to be here, do you know?"

Gaius Octavian might look somewhat akin to a Dunedain--though Legolas would not place him as one, full-blooded--but his style of dress is not something Legolas is familiar with.

Octavian smiles wryly and gestures at the empty seat next to him. As relaxed and smiling as he is, only the faint flicker of his eyes over Legolas and what might be a faint probing at him gives any indication that he's given the elf more than a cursory glance.

He probably can't pass for Dunedain, either--his facial structure is Roman, distinctly Mediterranean, however strong and handsome they may be.

"Truthfully, most of the answers I've heard are only partially satisfactory. Most of the ones which make sense, too, will take a great deal of time to explain." And possibly several drinks.

"The short version, however, is this: welcome to Milliways, the Tavern at the End of the Universe. That's End in time, although--" He breaks off there, and shakes his head. He speaks to Belgarion too much.

Legolas smiles, swiftly, removing his quiver with what is an unusual amount of grace (most people find take the straps off to be awkward), and is about to take a seat and say something witty about the name 'Milliways' when--

He catches sight of the observation window, and is caught. The exploding starlight is reflected in his eyes, as he whispers "Ai, ai," with quiet grief, "then this is the end of the song."

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."

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.

"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?"

"Sacred rights?" He asks, suddenly curious.

"Well, I have travelled more than most of my kin but I do not know very many kingdoms to compare it to. We are a kingdom of the silvan folk, the tree-people, and its borders are those of the forest of Mirkwood. Our king is a great lord of the Sindar, and has lived to see ages of our world. We trade with a settlement of Men to the East, and we converse with our kin across the mountains to the West, and we do not but sparingly trade with the Dwarves in the North for their deception long ago, and to the South there is shadow."

Tavi's eyebrow goes up a little as he purses his lips thoughtfully, flipping through a mental card catalogue of other worlds. He can pick up a few things already, though, including the designation "elf". (He also picks up that they're in a distinctly uncomfortable position, and represses the urge to wrinkle his nose in sympathy.

"The sacred right of the soldier to complain to his commanding officer," he explains dryly. "Respectfully, of course."

My ass hurts.
My ass hurts, sir.
Sacred right, sir. Sacred right.

Legolas breaks into laughter.

"At least it is respectful," he tells Tavi, comforting, once he has stopped laughing. It might work better if he didn't look set to go off again any moment.

"Respectful when he's reminded to be so, yes," Tavi says drily.

He likes this man. He pushes the bread and oil over a little, in offering. After all, it's a snack. "He and I continue to have discussions on the subject."

"Thank you," Legolas says, taking a piece of bread and dipping it lightly in oil as he has seen Tavi do. The movement seems natural, and it is only his clear curiousity which shows he has not actually eaten this before.

"I would say that having a good soldier under you who is not respectful," Legolas replies, after eating the piece of bread, "is better than having a respectful soldier who is not good. But that might encourage some who I work with, and I would find myself regretting it!"

Tavi smiles a little wryly. "That's the attitude our officers and Lords with any sense take, certainly. There are all sorts of useful unofficial policy."

He sighs a little and shakes his head, taking another sip. "Although, admittedly, we've had our history with those who disagree." His face darkens for a moment before he regains his good humor. He has memories.

Legolas notes that, and does not ask.

He smiles over at Tavi, nodding to his sword. "When I was young, I wanted to learn the method of using one of those, but I am well past the age that I could learn without looking a fool."

Tavi smiles a little self-deprecatingly.

"And the way you carry that bow, I dare say even with my woodcrafting I couldn't hope to be the kind of shot you are, or my uncle, or any of our Knights Terra. And I still have to train hard to stay in shape with this blade."

Something about the fond smile on his face indicates wistful reminiscence.

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