milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The sky is grey, but the sky has been grey and the ground grey and the plants grey and everything not purposefully brought in by the invading elvish and human armies a deeply depressing mire of ash and slag and...

Glorfindel deeply wants to go back to Imladris.

Finding the mysterious tavern inside of his tent, however, is... a lot more than he hoped for, actually. The elf gladly wanders in, relaxed despite warrior braids, armor, sword, and...

He's just a little stiff. Really. Just a touch. Nothing to worry about.

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Nynaeve, who had decided to spend a portion of the evening in the bar with tea she did not have to prepare herself, looks up.

Her scowl is suddenly very deep, and she marches over to the elf, looking determined.

"Light, Glorfindel," she says as she approaches, "have you no common sense?"

... Clearly, Nynaeve and Elrond are in a conspiracy (despite never having a chance to meet) to hound him. There is a reason he has been avoiding the Healers Tent.
"All of my sense is uncommon, my lady." He replies sweetly, continuing towards the Bar. Wine, he has earned wine. Good wine. Wine that is not starting to go sour from... well. Being stored in barrels that are probably contaminated at this point.

"And none of it good, it seems."

She's still glaring at him.

"What have you done to yourself this time?"

"You are quite right, 'good' is entirely too pedestrian a word to describe my sense. And I have done nothing to myself, my lady." It's true! ... An orc did it. He paid the orc back by taking off its head. Oooh, bar.

"A glass of Dorwinion, if you please."

"I'll box your ears in a minute, just see if I don't."

If anything, her glare has gotten darker.

"Let me take a look at you."

Glorfindel favors her with his most innocent look, bowing slightly.

And a wee bit stiffly, but he hopes it doesn't show too badly.

"I am, of course, at your command. Do you wish me to pose, my lady?" He asks, purposefully misunderstanding.

"If you'll promise to hold still, you can stand on your bloody head for all I care."

Her foot is tapping.

Someone here is impatient.

She'll be yanking on her braid next.

"My lady, my head is perfectly fine." He assures her earnestly.

A helmet will see to that.

"Men," Nynaeve mutters under her breath.

Loudly.

"And elves."

She has no patience for them.

"I'll not let you wander around with even pulled muscles if I can help it. You'll get yourself killed!"

For a moment, he looks... well. Penitent is decidedly not the right word, but...

Shifty?

Cracked ribs is just like a pulled muscle, isn't it?

"If you do insist on exerting yourself I will not, of course, stop you."

She doesn't say anything, just sniffs loudly.

Then she steps forward, hands resting on his shoulders as she opens herself to embrace saidar.

Nynaeve glows like a tiny sun, first Delving to see the extent of Glorfindel's injuries, then weaving a complicated net of power to Heal his damaged ribs.

Then she steps back, looking satisfied.

"There we go. You'll fare much better when you've no need to ignore pain."

Bloody fool of a man. Elf.

Male.

He bows again, much more gracefully the first time. He doesn't even spill his wine, which he picked up as soon as she let him go.

"Thank you, my lady. I would have healed, given a couple more days." He pointed out, not at all petulant really. No. Shhhh. "It is not as if I would be bending much in full armor, anyway."

He's just digging himself a nice hole, isn't he?

Nynaeve yanks on her braid, glaring at him again.

"You're asking to have your ears boxed."

If she has to find a stool and use it to reach the appropriate height.

"Now. If you're quite done being ridiculous, have you eaten? I've tea at my table, if you'll join me."

"It would be my honor, my lady." He replies gravely, if one ignores how the corner of his lips twitch up with amusement. "I will admit I have not eaten, but I have only lately returned from patrol, and only just had time to change into clean clothing."

And armor. Always armor. Armor, and weaponry. There is too much danger to go without.

"That's easily enough remedied. Go make yourself comfortable."

She gestures toward her hastily abandoned table.

"I'll bring something over in a moment. You'll not object to venison, I hope?"

"Not at all, my lady." He hopes she doesn't mean jerky, but he decides that asking would be a bit beyond the bounds of politeness. It cannot be much worse than camp food, at any rate.

He does order a second glass of Dorwinion to take with him to the table - perhaps he can convince her to drink it, later. The wood elves would be scandalized.

She'll bring back roasted venison, herb potatoes, and assorted greens.

She has some idea of what constitutes a decent meal.

"This should keep you busy."

Nynaeve settles herself at the table, hands smoothing down her skirts.

A small flicker of saidar, just bright enough for her to glow, serves to reheat her cup of tea.

"There we go. Now."

She gives him a piercing look.

"How have you been keeping yourself?"

The second glass of wine is edged further in her direction before he sets to work putting away the best meal he has seen in... well. Since the last time he was here, which was months.

"Busy." He answers impishly, with a sly grin. "The siege continues apace. By which I mean his Dark And Gloominess continues to throw orcs and wargs and other foul creatures at us, and we continue to slaughter them."

"Light grant your own losses remain small."

She means that.

And also, after a momentary hesitation, lifts the semi-proffered wine cup.

"I've a feeling my husband and I will return to our own conflict soon enough."

She can feel a storm coming, wilder and more dangerous than any she's yet seen here.

Even if it is distant, yet.

His gaze sharpens a bit, his expression more concerned.
"You go to war, my lady?"

War is, in his world, is no place for a lady.

"Yes. Much as I'd rather have it not be so."

She smooths down her skirts again.

"But there's little enough choice now, so it must be borne."

He nods, a shadow of the grinding exhaustion this siege has become flitting behind his eyes.
"Elbereth guard and guide you both, my lady." He offers in turn.

(OOC this will be slowtime, if that's okay. Mun is about to pass out)

Seras sat at the table watching her door. She is in her blood covered uniform at the moment, thinking about going through and kicking butt.

The elf walks in and she sits up and blinks.

He ignores her. Completely. He is a fabled killer of evil things, by definition, but killing evil things, if they are patrons here, will only get him into quite a lot of trouble and make it impossible for a time to keep his oath to his liege lord, which is unacceptable.

So. Ignoring. Completely.

She herself is a killer of evil things. Geez.

"Um, Hello," she said to the elf that was ignoring her.

She herself is a vampire. In Middle Earth, vampires are most assuredly not on the side of the angels (or Maia, in this case). Glorfindel has been spending some decades in the middle of a siege against evil things not on the side of the Maia.

He goes on ignoring the vampire. Nothing can quite ignore things like a eras-old, reborn elf. Unless it's a Ent, but we don't have any of those here.

There is good wine though. This, Glorfindel is very thankful for.

This is okay, but she was just trying to be nice.

He gets a paper football to the back of his head.

Did Seras do that?!!! Nope, not at all.... She turned around and giggled to herself quietly.

And more to the point how does he know she's a vampire?

Edited 2008-07-18 01:45 (UTC)

Ignore, definition of: Not responding. At all.

Besides, the whole 'red eyes pointy teeth grr' thing from last time, beyond his ability to see beyond what is immediately visibly present, might have something to do with his complete unwillingness to treat with her.

To the point that he will gladly leave the bar, which he does. Quite frankly, there are some things not worth dealing with.

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