Further Deliberation Still

Thirsty Trout 


 * ''Well-kept, with ample seating at the U-shaped biinwood counter and around numerous tables, the Thirsty Trout enjoys a rather dignified reputation among the taverns of Fastheld. Mischief isn't tolerated, and the prevalence of private and Imperial personnel providing security tends to discourage most troublemakers.


 * ''The rushes on the floor are often replaced before they can be too soaked with ale or spilled stew. Vassals keep the logs burning in the corner fireplace throughout the night.

Lyddmull Seamel sits quietly at a table near the hearth, which is currently unlit. Next to him on said table is a large jar of ale, and a smaller bowl for drinking with. He stares contemplatively into the empty fireplace, one finger tapping out unrythmically on the edge of his bowl.

"Light, it's been too long since I've been here. This town is so fashionable," remarks a quiet voice in the din. A little silk-clad girl emerges from the bustling street, flanked on each side by a tall, broad man in guards' apparel. Despite being a rather solemn-looking party, all three move easily and naturally; the men, it seems, are directed to amuse themselves with ale and women while Milora seeks out a cup of hot water and lemon.

The newcomers do not catch the attention of the young Seamel, who seems to be off somewhere else, rather than sitting in the bustling tavern. The quiet tapping continues without any recognizable pattern. Without looking up, the nobleman lifts the bowl to his lips to sip at it.

Once her water is gotten, Milora backs away from the table to select a chair not unnear Lyddmull; she is not disposed to select any seat over another for comfort, as the fire is surely not burning at this time. It is, after all, summertime and daytime and a fire would be a failure of economy as well as likely to make the establishment uncomfortably warm.

The Seamel looks down in surprise, finding his bowl empty. He gazes at it irritably for a moment before shrugging and turning to refill it. As his hand rests on the jar, his eyes happen upon the Lomasa. His grip on both jar and bowl tightens slightly as his expression darkens, his brow sliding down a hair.

A long dragon-headed staff is crossed easily over Milora's lap; she holds her wide mug with both hands and sips it silently; a slice of lemon floats tranquilly atop the water therein, and she leans comfortably back against the large chair. Lyddmull is spotted, however, looking at her; she looks directly back at him and raises her eyebrows mildly.

Lyddmull offers the Arbiter a tense, but polite nod. "Lady Lomasa," he says by way of greeting, "I am made to understand congratulations are in order." The tension leaves his hands as he lifts his jar to refill his bowl.

"It seems as though many are made to understand such a thing, Lord Seamel," Milora replies lightly, giving the man a smile. "The adjustment of my position does not entitle me to any additional attention or glory, so save your words."

The Seamel does not return the smile, but nevertheless nods once again. "Be that as it may," he replies, "It would seem that his Highness, the Prince, holds you in high regard. Or so he said last night."

This seems to catch Milora's attention; she takes another sip of her water and then tilts her head. "Did you have an audience with His Grace, Lord Seamel? He is rather elusive these days."

A mirthless smile follows the question as the young nobleman places the jar back on the table, sipping at his bowl once again. "I hardly have the influence to rate such an honor, my Lady," he replies, "No, his Highness made an appearance at Night's Edge to speak with Lady Mikin last night. It would seem he had difficulty understanding a letter she had written him and needed some clarification."

Nodding, Milora leans back in her chair again. "I had not realized that they two were corresponding. Will you tell me what was said? I am afraid you have piqued my curiosity," she admits gently, a smile pulling the corners of her mouth.

The Seamel shrugs mildly, placing his bowl on the table. "His Highness found certain passages of the most recent letter contradictory in a way which brought him concern," he says, "The matter was soon put right."

"I would imagine so," Milora agrees, amusement crossing her features there. "I have no doubt that Celeste had a perfectly logical explanation as to the letter's contents; I shall perhaps ride to Light's Reach before very long to ask him about such a letter." The woman crosses her ankles and lifts her water to her lips once again.

"The Prince seems eager to keep himself removed from the situation between yourself and Lady Mikin," the Seamel replies with another shrug, "But you, of course, may do as you will."

There's a little quirk of Milora's features there, and she tilts her head again to one side. "I would not think to involve outside powers in the matter, Lord Seamel. I do not need to; my authority is absolute. However, this letter could possibly prove to be a useful tool for me during my expedition to Night's Edge. Thank you for relaying this information to me."

Lyddmull Seamel frowns tightly as he considers the matter. "I must confess myself somewhat confused, my Lady," he says, "As to the nature of your authority. As I understand it, the exploration of the Light has been deemed a personal one, and the 'Order' a set of guidlines." He shakes his head wearily, "Perhaps my understanding of the news is faulty, however, I also find myself confused in that Lady Mikin herself has repeated many times that she embraces the doctrines of the Imperial Cult. Maybe you can enlighten me as to how this is a matter that falls under your jurisdiction."

"Absolutely not," Milora says serenely, picking the lemon slice from the water and seperating it until its juice can be squeezed into the remaining contents of the mug. "I assure you that I am acting with the full authority of the Empire and I am tired of explaining myself to Celeste's various lackeys." There's a shining laugh there, and she lifts her head toward the ceiling and shakes her head in bemusement. "Why does everyone insist on challenging my decisions?" She asks this question of, it seems, the air. "I know the answer: because they are all prepared to commit treason! What a noble sacrifice /that/ would be."

Lyddmull Seamel snorts quietly at this, shaking his head in amusement. "You seem quick to jump to that conclusion, my Lady," he says, "Yet I merely asked the question of how a monastary that embraces the tenets of the Imperial Cult was in any way a danger to the Empire." He shrugs faintly, "But, from what I can tell, you will wield your authority as you will. One can only hope and pray that you learn to use it wisely ... and sparingly."

Milora doesn't seem particularly perturbed by any of this. "I did not expect trust from Night's Edge. However, I will say this much: if Celeste is right and I am wrong, how is it that it has come to pass that the Tribunal trusts me and not her? This is something that I think you should perhaps deliberate upon; by implying that someone that he has hand-selected for a certain position will abuse her authority or is otherwise a poor choice for the position, you are directly insulting the Sovereign Prince of the Blood. Have you thought about this, and more importantly, are you prepared to face the consequences that it may reap? And for what? You do not even know yet what business I have at Night's Edge."

The Seamel chuckles quietly, shaking his head. "I do believe that you are quite different in the presence of the Prince," he says gently, "More humility and reticence and less posturing and boastfulness." He sighs quietly, shaking his head, "You are right, you have refused to tell me what business you have there, and so I can only assume by the demanding tone of your edict that you do not intend to make you blessing of the place known publicly with white-robed maidens strewing rose petals about the courtyard."

"I am afraid that my situation forces 'boastfulness' from me, if one can call the relaying of such information boastful. Which, I suppose, you can." Milora finishes her water and sets the cup aside, instead laying her hands gently on the staff that is stretched from arm to arm of her chair. "You are struggling to find faults in me, Lyddmull Seamel. I am not bound to explain anything to you, as this is a matter entirely - entirely! beyond your business, whether or not the object of my interest is also the object of yours." She lifts an eyebrow. "I will advise you to this point, and no further: let me carry on with my business unfettered. Inform your lady that she is not to make this, which should be a very simple affair, into a game. If she does, she will lose." Milora rises to her feet and nods her head, tapping the staff gently on the ground neck to her, making a gesture that summons her guards from their tankards. "I believe that this discussion has reached its close."

Lyddmull Seamel's eyes slide to the gesture of the staff, twinkling in amusement as he looks up at the woman. "Then I bid you good day, my Lady," he says with a polite nod, "And hope that you will be in a more enlightening mood when I see you at Night's Edge."

"Enjoy the remainder of this fine day; I do not expect that we will be conversing in the future." Milora inclines her head slightly and turns, passing her two rather bewildered-looking men on the way to the door.

"I would not count on that, my Lady," the Seamel calls after the woman, lifting his bowl for another sip as he watches her leave, shaking his head slowly.

The words are even and dintinguished as Milora reaches the door of the tavern: "I would."

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