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 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.

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