Top of Amon Obel

A flat area that stands a bit higher than the surrounding trees offers a spectacular view towards the north, east and south. The rivers Sirion and Teiglin can often be seen skirting the edges of the forest in the latter two directions. But to the West stands a tall, formidable stockade. This is the dwelling of the woodmen of Brethil, who remain somewhat secretive in their hilltop abode. Several burly guards stand at their post at the gate.

The cool, sunny autumn morning wears old, and the eastern gates of Amon Obel are witness to the day's usual traffic of woodsmen, hunters, and merchants. The tangled, leafy canopy of intertwined branches formed by Brethil's expansive forest shed cool shade across the overgrown woods seen from atop the tall hillside. Here upon the path leading up towards the fortified town, however, trees are fewer and thinly scattered. The near noon sun glares comfortably down upon the dusty path and the travellers who now walk it: The healer, Aldawin, and Istadris.

The lean Beorian strides easily up the hill's steeply sloping face, his slightly stooped back ladden by a heavy pack, a sheathed longsword, and the great bow slung his left shoulder. His clear grey eyes narrow under the sun's bright rays, and he looks eagerly up towards the guardhouse and wooden stockade that borders the town of the Haladin as he hurries in his approach.

Hefting pack and healer's satchel, Aldawin strides up the steep and dusty path, which is already graced with the golden leaves of early autumn; her steps carry her just behind the ranger, and at his side when the path is wide enough, but otherwise the healer's gaze is as eagerly set towards the hill. And, looking slightly travel worn--her boots liberally coated with the grime of forest and trail -she looks as if she could use the ample shade of a lofty tree and a cooling drink at the end of her journey.

Looking none too fresh himself, and sporting a rather brushy, unkempt beard, the lean Beorian tracker presses on towards the top of the hill's side where the gates stand, open to his approach. His grey eyes lowers to meet those of the Haladin guard's, and his right hand lifts in wordless salute to the shorter man. "Almost there." He says reassuringly in the Beorian tongue, with a tired smile and a quick glance back at Aldawin. "What shall you do now?" Asks Istadris then, again dipping his head to greet one of the other Haladin guards who steps forth from beyond the wooden stockade to see them through. "I'll wager the Lady would wish to know what has happened beyond the crossings, though I'm in no mood to seek her out right this moment."

A flash of bright hair glinting in the harsh light of the mid-day sun, betrays the presence of another Beorian, a small figure, dwarfed by the guardsmen. Pushing her way through the guardmen, with little success a slight frown distorts the features of the young messenger as she squeezes in front of the lot. "There are newcomers to the gate?" she asks, the taller and receiving a grunt and curt nod by way of answer, the grey eyes seek out eagerly the two of her kin approaching. "Istadris! Aldawin!" The smile, flashing on Sionell's face is ample greeting enough and with her arms waving at the pair vigourously, pumping the wind..is ample reason enough for the Haladin guards, to step aside and let the lass through. "You have just arrived! "she exclaims one for stating the obvious it would seem. "We were all wondering about you two...." She trails off, studying their travel-worn and bedraggled appearance. "Perhaps..we may find a more suitable place to talk..where drink and food may be found for you both. The look in her eyes is almost apologetic .

At the gates at last, Aldawin lets the satchel's strap drop from her shoulder, where the leather case lands with a soft thud upon the ground as her steps slow almost to a stop. Heedless of it for a moment, she returns the woodsman's smile with a faint grin of her own, seeming to study the other's face for a moment before flicking her glance to the guard, then back to Istadris. "Truthfully, I was just thinking how nice it would be to sit in the dim tavern and share a drink. I have had enough of dust for quite a while." She laughs quietly as she lifts up the satchel, grabbing the thick leather strap as she considers else the woodsman has said. "And, aye, the Lady should be told. But I could give her a brief report now if you wish, until you could speak with her later--" Further musings are interrupted by the cheerful--if loud--voice of Sionell, who waves wildly at their arrival. "It seems we have been missed.." she whispers with a grin to Istadris, then steps forward, the weary smile broadening. "Sionell," she greets the messenger. "Aye, I was thinking the tavern myself, unless there is better that keeps the warmth of the day at bay."

Istadris pauses just a step beyond the wooden gateway and turns to briefly gaze over the hill's slope, out towards where the late morning sun's bright rays play upon the distant waters of the river Sirion. "Nay, forget the Lady for now." He says, shrugging off Aldawin's offer and turning back to her just as Sionell's enthusiastic greetings raise a small commotion from the guardsmen standing nearby. A crooked grin plays upon the woodsman's thin, weathered lips as he looks to the approaching messenger. "Drink and a meal both sound appealing enough." He replies, looking questioningly to the healer then, before gesturing onwards into town with casual sweep of his hand, "Let us go, then." The tracker shrugs beneath the weight of his heavy pack and starts towards the narrow, shady track leading into the village, though his gaze strays once more to Sionell. "I've not had the opportunity to speak with you, Sionell." He says then, a questioning frown marring his tanned brow, "Have you news from Hithlum?"

Turning, a mischievious eye to the wondering guardmen as they depart, the young messenger nods to Istadris, her quiet gaze including the healer as well, as she speaks. "Indeed, I have news, though it may not be of glad tidings. " Casting her ealier cheer aside, as solemnity envelops the messenger's features she gives a soft sigh, her voice lowered slightly. "Many fell in defending the Barad Eithel fortress, among them were Lord Hador and Lord Gundor. Tis bad tidings indeed.."she shakes her head, recalling the meeting with the new Lord, with sadness in her eyes. "Lord Galdor is now Lord of Hadorsford, we spoke but shortly...he was yet in grieving at the time."

Stepping forward with the woodsman's motioning gesture, Aldawin looks to Sionell as well upon the inquiry of Hithlum. "Aye, she adds quickly, I hardly had time to ask you myself when we met briefly at the crossings." Aldawin falls silent to hear the messenger's reply, though it seems her gaze is kept upon the other even after she has finished speaking. Solemning, she nods in response to the sober news. "Aye, bad tidings," comes the whisper. "Tis a great loss for them. How holds the fortress and the city in the wake of this attack?" she wonders next, her glance straying to the woodsman briefly as she continues along the packed dirt path; the slow breezes send the leaves of the trees lining the way to swaying.

The Beorian tracker walks somewhat briskly along the edge of the dirt track, finding what little shade he can beneath the tall pines and birch trees that line the avenue leading further into the village of Amon Obel. Though the day itself is cool, and the gently blowing breeze at times chilly, the near noon sun's rays are glaring and bright. Istadris' shoulders sag further beneath the weight of his pack at Sionell's news, and though he falls silent at first, his narrowed grey eyes lower gloomily to stare at the dirt trail before his booted feet. The healer's questioning words draw his attention, and he too nods his head inquisitively. "Barad Eithel stands, then?" He asks, lifting a hand to adjust the broad strap holding his longsword in place, "And what of Fingolfin's folk?"

Sionell pauses, turning to them as if to recall the events that passed by on her journey, of thenew she had been sent to bring. A wistful look settles in the grey eyes, "I fear I was not given adequate audience with the Lord, he was in a idsheartened state and there was little news that could be got from him, so burdened was he by the pain pf losing his kin. " She sighs, tugging distractedly at the long cloak about her shoulder, uncomfortably . Yet the source of her unease could not rest only in the weight of the thick fabric cradling her shoulders, but in the memories called up suddenly. "Of Fingolfin's people I fear I have no news...save that they fought valiantly in defense of the fortress and it still stands. How they fared afterwards..I do not know and of their losses, I am ignorant. The people of Hadorford, though subdued somewhat, seem to have gotten on with their lives...Lord Galdor said, himself..there was naught that could be done..but move on. Revere the memories of those that fell fighting for a just cause..." The soft words, cease abruptly and he lass kicks at a pebble sending in hurtling off the path, her face somber and eyes darkened.

"As we all have moved on," Aldawin says to the last of the messenger's words, her smile faint but the grey eyes determined. "It is well that they have held their home. Any defeat of Morgoth can only give us all greater hope," she says, glancing back at the woodsman as her strides lengthen upon the path that leads towards the tavern. "How fare you, Sionell?" the healer then asks of a sudden, her narrowed glancing seeking to meet with the messenger's. "I trust your injury is healing well on its own since I last saw you there at the crossings?"

Istadris offers no reply to Sionell's reports, and his grey gaze remains set intently upon the ground directly before his booted feet. The woodsman's shoulders shift wearily beneath the heavy pack's biting straps, and his thin lips purse with consideration for a moment as the three Beorians follow the track into the village. Heedless of Aldawin's words, he suddenly speaks out. "I shall go store my arms." He says, gesturing with a nod towards the distant pavilions that house the Beorian guests. "I will seek you both out at the tavern immediately afterwards, then." With a quick glance over his right shoulder, the Beorian tracker looks both Sionell and Aldawin before dipping his head and lengthening his quick strides to follo the track towards the west.

It is an autumn day, just about noon, and the small tavern is occupied with hot and tired Haladin that have come in for their midday meal or maybe a cool one before going back out to work. Given the number of people in the room, it is surprising that it is less stuffy than one would suspect. Instead, there is ample space at the tables and a clearly defined pathway between the front door and the bar on the far wall.

It is within this room, carefully studying a meal that has been placed before him, is Falsten the Carpenter. He seems to be quite dusty, as are carpenters and craftsmen sometimes are, with sawdust, but other than that is in good spirits and repair.

The tavern doors open slightly , permitting a breath of the fresh air to enter the tavern and a slight figure trudges inwards. The eyes of the young messenger seek the healer Aldawin just behind her and without giving a glance to the occupants of the tavern, she holds open the door for the other. "It has healed well...Aldawin." she murmers, in reply to the healer's question. Her fingers move to touch the graze slightly as if in memory before they fiddle with the strings tying her cloak to her shoulders. Tossing the long heavy garment onto a nearby hook she dips her head to the other, a smile touching her lips. "A good meal and drink will do you well Aldawin. "she notes, the other's weary appearance with a soft look of the eyes, rememberance causing a wry grin to settle on her features. "We'll wait for Istadris...there is so much I wish to ask of you."

Glad to be in the dim and cool tavern, Aldawin utters a soft sigh in spite of herself and glances at her boots, seeming to regard them with some reluctance. "Oh, what I would give for a pool of water to soak my feet in right now," she whispers to Sionell, gazing across the tavern's room as her eyes adjust to the dim light. She chuckles at the messenger's suggestion that a good meal might do her well. "Aye, that it would," she nods in agreement. "The bread of yester even's meal was stale, and the salted meat hardly as good as what can be found in here... Her eyes now accustomed to the light, Aldawin points to a table that might accommodate them all when she sees Falsten near that very table, and with a greeting to the carpenter, she steps forward. "Good day, Falsten," she says, just loud enough so he might hear, without shouting 'cross the room.

"Erm..." the Carpenter glances up and gazes across the room. It takes him a few moments to chew what food he's got in his mouth before replying with a cheery, "Good day, Honored Healer Ma'am..." He pauses and nods to Sionell, "Miss." He looks around at his table -- all but empty but for him. Lifting up his tin plate so as to make room, should the Beorians wish to sit there with him, he waits until the pair comes closer before asking, "So you are back then! And I see, that you have found each other."

The tavern doors swing open, Emeldir stepping into the welcome shade and coolness within, removing a cotton shawl from her head and shoulders while she pauses to allow her eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. At her side is one of her ever-present guards, a young man who guides her to an unoccupied table.

As the pair move across the room, Emeldir espies Sionell and Aldawin, raising a hand to wave to them. She stops near to their table, dipping her head as she greets the women, "Good day, miladies," she offers politely. "Aldawin, tis good to see ye back in Amon Obel. Have ye any word on the whereabouts of Finnabair, though?" she inquires.

Weaving her way alongside the healer the messenger chuckles at Aldawin's words, her gaze falling at last upon the face of the carpenter. Recognition brings a dip of the head in greeting and slight smile to the lips of the lass. "Good day Sir.."she begins, nodding in quiet response to his question. Yet whatever words may have ensued is curbed with the the appearance of the Lady of Dorthonion and Sionell dips her head in polite greeting. "Good day Mi'lady" she says quietly, yet there is warmth in her gaze and though she falls silent allowing the healer to respond, it would not appear that the lass is unattentive, for her sharp gaze drifts about the room slightly, for sight of more faces familiar.

"Aye, we are back," Aldawin says to both elder healer and carpenter, her gaze travelling between both as she sets her pack upon the floor and the satchel upon the empty chair beside her before taking a seat. The gaze remains upon the Lady Emeldir a moment more and she gives an affirming nod. "And aye, Finnabair has returned as well. I believe we are all tired from the journey. Though the forests of Brethil are fair, indeed, and the travel rather pleasant, it is good to be back among you." She smiles, stretching her arms out in front of her before drawing them back in a clasp. "I trust your health is well, Lady?" She awaits the elder healer's answer, yet flashes a glance to Sionell next. "Tis good to hear the injury causes no trouble," she says in a quiet voice.

The heavy door leading outside is swung slowly inwards once again, revealing the sunlit pathway beyond it and the lean form of Istadris who stands at the threshold. The Beorian tracker steps quickly into the shade, turning to shut the door behind him before lifting his grey eyes to survey the common room. The flicker of recognition lights his gaze as he notes Emeldir's presence among the other familiar figures gathered nearby, and he lifts a hand to offer wordless salute to any who may look his way. With slowed steps, Istadris crosses towards them, pausing only briefly to order a drink from one of the passing servers. "Good day." He greets simply, with a nod to Falsten and another to Emeldir.

The guard hovering behind her, yet at her call if needed, Emeldir inclines her head towards Aldawin, "Ah, tis good to hear that all have returned to Brethil's forests safely," she comments quietly, going on to add in a lowered tone for the healer's benefit, "and I am quite well, milady."

As Istadris enters and makes a greeting, Emeldir turns towards the tracker, dipping her head politely in return, "Good day to ye, Istadris. Finnabair fares well, milord?" she inquires.

Having slinked in, purposefully staying to the shadows, Lindros starts at Trefil's cheerful greeting, not returning it - instead slinking to the bar.

With a bit of a conspiratorial gleam in her eye, Aldawin nods at the Lady Emeldir's news of her health, though says not else before looking up to Istadris with welcoming smile, moving the satchel from the chair next to her, and motioning him to join. The form of Lindros in his entrance goes unnoticed by the healer, who has taken his arrival with as much interest as any others who enter the tavern for the midday meal.

Istadris eyes the Beorian Lady uncertainly as she makes her inquiry, but quickly dips his head in response. "Aye, she is well enough." He states, drawing a pace aside and leaning wearily against the edge of one of the unoccupied tables. "She was wounded some ways out, far beyond the crossing when she journeyed out to follow the route to Hithlum. It was not anything too serious, and she seems to be on her way to recovery even now." With his back to the doorway, the tracker shows no notice of Lindros' arrival. "I shall go order us all a meal." He volunteers, hesitating only to glance briefly to Aldawin and Sionell, "If the two of you wish it?"

A slight smile crosses the messenger's lips as she listens quietly at the exchange words. The grey eyes of the lass look somewhat relieved as she learns of Finnabair's safe return. Sionell eyes' turn towards Aldawin, then her hands grasping the back of one of the chairs, the slender fingers tapping an idle dance on the polished wood. She seems to consider the woodsman's offer quietly turning an eyebrow to Aldawin, in askance as if for agreement.

Lindros makes a quick mug-holding gesture at the bartender, all he needs do as soon he is served a coppery ale tankard. When he turns around, facing the gathering of Dorthonion folk, a seemingly pleasant grin is quirked upon his face, and as if he entered the pub with the intent, he heads towards you all.

Taking the last few swallows of his ale, Falsten rises and approaches the small gathering with his tin plate. To everyone here, he nods and smiles. "Um... good day." He looks around once before asking, "Would you mind too much if I joined you here? Would prefer not to eat alone if I could help it."

Her hands still clasping the satchel, Aldawin glances between Istadris and Emeldir as the former reports further of Finnabair's condition, though as Sionell looks to her in question, she smiles with a nod, turning where Istadris stands nearby. "Yes, thank you, Istadris--" her voice fades to silence as the figure of Lindros approaches. More question than anything else is betrayed of the younger healer's expression, though she gives a simple nod to the carpenter's query, remaining silent of further words.

Istadris draws a step away from the rest of the gathering, looking then to Falsten as the man approaches them from his own table. "Aye, do sit." He replies, gesturing to one of the empty chairs with a casual sweep of his hand before turning away to seek one of the attendants. It is then that the Beorian tracker at last notes Lindros. His grey eyes widen slightly with recognition before darkening with a deep frown. Though he says nothing, Istadris stares intently at the Haladin man and waits where he stands near the Beorian's table, his hands clenched loosely at his sides.

Seizing her pouch, and tying it hurriedly to her waist, Sionell gives a heavy sigh, looking to Istadris. "It is most kind of you Istadris..yet please I would ask nothing for myself, there is something I must do..ere it grows late." A slight crease of annoyance at her carelessness in forgetting some errand, furrows her brow slightly and the quiet gaze drifts about the company,in apology. "It is good to see you all safe and back, I will seek the lady Finnabair, for there is much I wish to speak to her of.."she says quietly, the matter clearly of some import for while the smile remains wide on her lips in her parting, the solemnity behind the grey eyes remains fixed and purposeful A dip of the coppery head, is given then, as she turns to leave . "Good day Mi'ladies ..Istadris..Falsten."

Relieved to hear of Finnabair's safe return, Emeldir nods to Istadris reply before moving off to the table earlier indicated by her guard. She pauses at the approach of the young Haladin, bowing her head politely in a wordless greeting, catching sight now of another Haladin as well, to whom she also dips her head, before moving to a seat. As the guard sees to ordering some tea, Emeldir glances back in the direction of her fellow Beorians, watching their interaction.

"Good afternoon, miss," replies Falsten to Sionell as he lowers himself into the chair. Looking between everyone, he smiles, "I am sorry if I seem to be butting in myself, cause I realise that your business here is none of mine. But, its nice to have some company for sure." Carefully, he slips his tin plate onto the table and reaches across to grab his mug. Maybe there will be a maid by for a refill.

Moving with an ease meant to cover his trepidation, Lindros arrives at your table just after Falsten, and speaks in the tone and some of the courteosy of his fellow. "Good day, folks.." he says brightly, casting his eyes amongst those he knows. "Lindros am I.." he adds, now looking at those he knows less well, and lastly at Emeldir, who knows him all too well. "Ahh..please have your meal, let me not bother..I meant only to offer a greeting." and he flashes a broad smile.

The younger healer's smile seems forced, and while she seems compelled to keep her gaze upon Lindros and Istadris, her blinking glance is turned briefly to Falsten, to whom she voices, "Aye, you are more than welcomed to join here, Falsten. How is the chair you are fashioning for my father?" The question seems more perfunctory than given of true curiosity, for immediately Aldawin's gaze is once more drawn to the two men still standing, even as she bids Sionell a harried farewell. "I should like you to order something, then, Istadris," Aldawin says to the woodsman, looking again to Lindros as he approaches yet closer, and slipping the satchel back upon the empty seat beside her. "Good day, Lindros," she adds with a polite smile.

Istadris' wary frown fades at Lindros' unexpectedly polite greeting, though he still eyes the Haladin man rather suspiciously. "Fare well, Sionell." He calls back to the departing messenger, with a somewhat absent dip of his head. "Good day to you, Lindros." He says then, gauging the other's expression and drawing a deep breath before nodding to Aldawin. "Aye, Let me find an attendant." He adds, at last turning from the Haladin and hurrying to the bar, where he speaks in hushed tones to make an order.

Sensing something of a tension in the air, Falsten takes another spoonful and turns to look towards Lindros. But, its not with any tension, and more out of curiousity. But, to Aldawin's question, the carpenter quickly swallows his food and nods, "Quite well, ma'am." He pauses to look around for a maid before continuing, "The basic structure is done. All I am waiting for, is the ornamentation. Its sturdy and heavy, so there'll be many fine spots for the extra frills."

Lindros casts a furtive glance at the departing Sionell, before turning back to the table, and keenly seeing Aldawin stow her satchel. "And I should like to give Coin and buy!" he quickly cries, again flashing a broad smile. Grasping the shoulder of a passing server, he calls, "Turjahn! Shout the table, do I!" and he produces coin.

Lindros acknowledges, for the first time this afternoon, Istadris. "And a good day to you, Master Istofdris." he says, grinning thinly. "More learned of canoe are ye?" he quips.

Watching after the woodsman for a moment, Aldawin next turns to Falsten; the smile relaxes, faint, upon her face. "Aye, then," she says under the booming all of Lindros. "Is the back rest of the chair ready for me to pick up, then? Though I've yet to find someone to do that ornamentation, I think I know who I might ask..." Lindros' voice again calls forth--this time to the Beorian woodsmen near the bar, and this time Aldawin's gaze is given to the Haladin, her brows furrowing in question as she betrays the merest of sighs.

Having exchanged a few brief words with the barkeeper in his rusty Halethian, Istadris nods to the other man and turns back towards the rest of the common room. Though it is only sparsely crowded by the men and women who have come to eat their noonday meals here, the low din of hushed conversation drifts across the cozy chamber. The Beorian tracker returns towards his companions' table, pausing only as Lindros speaks questioningly to him. His thin lips purse, and he heaves a low sigh while considering his answer. "Aye, and I've see you are more learned of manners, Lindros." He utters, his perturbed grey eyes betraying annoyance, "I would speak with you of this matter. This stolen canoe, as you would call it, if you have the time to hear me out."

The server, Turjahn returns, placing baskets of fresh bread, pastries and drinks upon the table. Bestowing Lindros another tankard.

Tilting his head once more, as it seems there is some relation between Istadris and Lindros, Falsten almost misses Aldawin's question. For a moment, he blinks at her question and then smiles, "Indeed, it is ready to be picked up. Or delivered. I'm sure I can have my boy Whitley take it to the tents... or to whomever you wish to do that particular design."

As Turjahn passes, Falsten raises his mug to show it empty... and then requests a refill.

Lindros listens wide-eyed, feigning humour as Istadris addresses him. He finishes his first tankard, takes a sample of the second, and replies softly, in a monotone. "Now would be well, good scout of The Pines that once were.." he turns and bows slightly, politely to Aldawin, "I would more have enjoyed the lady's company, so welcome as it were, yet she hath found a suitor better than we.." and he adds, to Istdrris, "eh?"

"And another for this good carpenter!" Lindros calls on Turjahn, "on me." To no one, if ostensibly Turjahn, Lindros adds, "I would stay, but the scout would know better the Great River, and I am wont to tell him." He smirks around, then sneers at Istadris.

Torn between conversations business and personal, Aldawin looks to Falsten, yet her open mouth responds not with an answer to his query, but rather, "If...you would excuse me a moment?" After which her glance is affixed straightway to the other Haladin. "I'm certain you would find what Istadris has to say concerning the missing canoe of great interest, Lindros. If you would but lend your attention to listen?" There is some evidence of frustration in the younger healer's gaze, quelled as it is.

One of Turjahn's helpers at last arrives with Istadris' tankard in hand, though the woodsman momentarily ignores the lad as he hears out Lindros' response. "First." He begins, drawing a step nearer to Aldawin and at last turning to take the offered drink from the helper's offering hands, "I was given the canoe by one of your kinsmen, for I was injured and needed assistance in finding my past these woods." The Beorian tracker lifts the tankard to his lips and drinks a long sip, before placing it softly down upon the table's edge and settling his intent gaze directly upon Lindros' eyes. "Secondly, I offer my apologies. I did not return with the canoe. Other matters arose when I arrived in Dorthonion, and I could not leave those lands. So what will you have of me, Lindros, in exchange for this that I have lost of yours?"

Lindros is about to reply to Aldawin, but then as Istadris speaks up so determined he merely cocks his head askew, somewhat bemused, and listens to all Istadris has to say. He then sets his tankard down, and suprisingly addresses Falsten. "I beg pardons, good carpenter. I meant to disturb ye not, nor your pleasant discourse with the Lady Aldawin." and he makes a quick, polite bow to each. Flexing his knuckles, he turns to Istadris, "Friend, I have no lost or stolen canoe. If ye canst tell me that ye turned the boat not over to The Black, then all the better. Think naught of it. You owe me nothing."

As the tankard is brought to him, Falsten nods to Lindros in thanks before taking a long drink... and settling back to listen to the discussion about the canoe. To Lindros' words, he merely smiles and nods, "Twas not a disturbance at all... merely a curiosity. My thanks."

Gaining the attention of one of the servers, Aldawin orders a drink now for herself, sitting back against the chair and upturning her glance to the woodsman before eyeing Lindros once again. To Falsten she merely nods with the flicker of a brief and unhappy smile, though her mouth is set to a neutral expression as she returns that gaze to the other Haladin. Her brows furrow in question upon Lindros' last utterance, though, remaining quiet, she waits for Istadris to answer.

Istadris lays a hand over the top of his tankard and runs his index finger absently along the vessel's rim. His clear grey eyes gaze quizzically upon Lindros, though his frown and wary expression fade. "I turned the boat over to none." He replies with a sure nod, "Yet, I left it abandoned by the river's shore, somewhere in Dimbar." The tracker gives a dismissive shake of his head and again lifts the drink to his lips, tilting it back some to taste the dark brew within it. With a look to Aldawin where she sits near his side, the lean Beorian paces around to find another free chair and gestures for Lindros to join. "Sit, then." He offers, before settling down upon his own chair.

Pointedly casting a gaze on the diminished numbers at the table, Lindros replies, "Better that I had not come, for nothing good had I to do this day, and hath provoked others to /find/ something to do, so to speak.." he jests, genuinely smiling. "By your leave, Lady Aldawin?"

"Of course," Aldawin answers to Lindros' question, and seems relieved as a mug of ale is set before her by one of the servers, hardly waiting a pause before it is brought to her lips for a brief sip. Looking next to Istadris, Aldawin settles back in her seat once more, though her gaze is given to those sitting at the tables nearby in feigned interest. "And so what is it you have provoked others to do?" Aldawin wonders at last, her questioning glance returning to Lindros across the way.

Lindros bows his head gratiously for the welcome, and does take a seat opposite you both. He muses after a good sip of ale. "Somewhere in Dimbar, eh?" he says disinterested in the answer, yet provides, "Elves of some prowess hunt there. None the good are the Wood faeries on water. Ahh, but oft are folk cast out of their element." He smirks, then quickly turns to Aldawin, "Are ye settling into the forest life, well? Ye and yours?"

The Beorian tracker leans wearily back against the high back of his sturdy chair, lifting the tankard of ale to his lips while watching Lindros across the table. Noting the plates of bread and cheese already brought to the table, Istadris sets his drink down briefly and reaches out to take a roll and slice of the thick, crumbly cheese for himself before glancing aside to Aldawin. He eats silently, but eagerly, content to listen to the exchange between the Beorian healer and the Haladin man. "Yrch hunt in the Dimbar now, as well." He speaks then after swallowing a mouthful, though quickly falls silent once more in favour of another sip of his drink.

"A better man have I become, some say.. and none would I provoke." Lindros states, just before Istadris speaks. Lindros nods slowly, "That be known by the elders, aye good Scout. Yet even when the Beorland was guarded, Yrch trod there. Have ye heard rumour of one Cuthalion? Dimbar is his, and few dare tred in fear of the Bow Elf."

Taking a longer sip of the ale, Aldawin seems to study the dark liquid's shimmer in the dim light of the tavern listlessly a moment. The plate of food set before them merits a look, but the healer does not eat of the bread and cheese just yet. Of Lindros' question she seems to consider but a moment, raising the grey eyes to the Haladin before she speaks. "The forest of Brethil is vast and beautiful. I am settling here well enough," she says in answer, though her eyes are once again lowered at Istadris' mention of the yrch, and reaches for the mug before her once again as Lindros speaks up.

Lindros chortles deeply, "And as yet none have ventured across Brithiach.." He nods to Aldawin, "Aye, well to hear! Indeed, Brethil be secure.. perhaps.." and he pauses, eyeing Istadris with mock wariness, "..nay, indeed is better for the scouts and warriors of Pineland."

Lindros falls into a somber quietness, casting his gaze into his tankard, swirling the remaining ale.

Istadris sets his heavy tankard down upon the table's smooth worn surface and reaches up to tug idly at the side of his bearded chin as he regards Lindros across the table. "Cuthalion?" He wonders aloud, his grey eyes glittering with seeming recognition, "The Strong Bow? I have heard such a name, even in Dorthonion. Though I know not who this is." The lean Beorian stoops forward on his chair then, resting his hands against the table's edge as he gazes beyond the Haladin and towards the bar. "Brithiach is secure, aye." He says in a lower, almost hushed, voice, "But what of the lands west of here?" His intent gaze settles back upon the other man, but only after a brief glance to Aldawin, "The yrch also roam there. They endanger the route to Hithlum, and it was by good fortune only that one of the messengers the Lady sent there returned to us unharmed."

Aldawin shakes her head in wonder as Istadris repeats the name "Cuthalion," though her gaze lingers alongside the faintest of smiles as the woodsman tugs at his bearded chin. "Who is this 'Strong Bow?'" she wonders aloud, resting both hands about the edges of the mug before her, drawing it near yet not drinking.

"Some few know me, accept my bad for my good.." he says into the tankard. "She did, yet whither she be knows Lindros not..." and his face almost descends to the lip of the tankard. "Cuthalion?!" he laughs, his mood rapidly changing. "Beleg the Strongbow - his bow as tall as the tallest man.." and he adds, to Aldawin, "taller than I!"

Istadris looks questioningly to Lindros, his brow furrowing slightly as the other man murmurs something unheard into the tankard. "I know only tales of the Strongbow, Aldawin." He replies, flashing the healer a weary smile before again looking to the laughing Haladin. "Aye, a matchless marskman he is, rivaled by none." Adds the Beorian, venturing a wink at Aldawin, "Even I." After a quick sip of his own drink, Istadris looks quizzically to Lindros and raises his voice in question. "So this Beleg truly does patrol Dimbar and those lands?" He asks curiously, "Have you ever met him?"

Lindros rises, drinking the last ale of his tankard, almost as an afterthought - his darker disposition outshown by an oft-hidden boyish dememanor. "Scout Istadris, Beor of Dorthonion.." he starts, "Ye and I are friends not, neither deserved yet some common have we. I would venture to Dimbar, even close to the Queen's Girdle. Game there be, Yrch to slay - and either way mayhap the Strongbow be there." Suprised to hear himself say his kind, benevolent words, Lindros mutters a quick polite parting and heads for the door.

Istadris glances up to the departing Lindros, his own grey eyes widening slightly in surprise. "To Dimbar I have yet to venture." He says, frowning with seeming uncertainty, "Not since arriving here. Though I mean to." With a polite nod to the other man, the Beorian tracker watches him depart, then turning to Aldawin with a confused look. Wordless, he lifts the tankard to his lips once again and drinks the remainder of the cool brew before raising it to beckon one of the attendants.