gondolin_noble | (no subject)

"The trees, the rocks... there are many voices in this world." Glorfindel shrugs, contemplating the stars. "As for what they say... they speak of those they knew, the changing of the land."

"My kind doesn't really hear much, do we?" Alana says wistfully, resting her hands on the cold balustrade. "I suspect trees have very good memories. Do the trees of Milliways speak on the same topics?"

"Mostly theirs is a confused mumble. They try their best, though." Glorfindel has a fondness for those poor confused trees, even if they do not make a lot of sense.

Alana chuckles, feeling goosebumps pop up on her arms. "It must be such an odd change," she says. "To have the stars be silent and the trees be confused when you're used to hearing them speak."

"It is certainly disconcerting." Glorfindel agrees, then frowns once he looks down at her. "Your kind are so easily chilled. Come, I will pay for my carelessness before taking you back." He pushes himself off of the stone, heading for an archway different than the one the came through originally.

Alana follows closely behind, grateful that they speak the same language. "Where are we going?"

"There is an inn in the Fourth Circle that makes wonderful meat pies, and I have heard the ale is good." He prefers the wine, which they've learned to stock when the Queen's brothers are in town.

As they descend, the stonework becomes finer, draperies and rugs start appearing - it is also a little warmer, but seeing the entire building is stone, it's not by much.

Alana's eyes track the draperies; she's in awe of all of the colors of the finely woven cloths. "Meat pies?" she says, cocking her head at him. "Those sound good, thank you. Where are we, by the way?"

"The royal citadel - the twins are visiting their sister." The first sighting of other people are the guards that start appearing, tall and still in their watchful duty. They don't dare stop Glorfindel, and if they are curious, they keep it to themselves.

Alana feels out of place in her starburst-flower wrap dress, so she keeps the cloak wrapped around herself and her head down. "The twins? Your lord's sons?"

Glorfindel murmurs assent as they reach the ground floor, the hall treading a line between richly furnished and severely styled. Here there are more staff members, and some of the Royal Court are still in evidence. Persistent folk, he will give them that. The courtyard is alit in torch light, the flames snapping and muttering in the breeze. In the center of the courtyard, the White Tree flourishes. as stark as the guards that surround it.

Alana drinks in the sights, marveling at the White Tree and its selection of guards. She follows Glorfindel closely, wishing to prevent getting lost in the royal citadel. The people in their sumptuous robes and leathers fascinate her, though she has to crane her neck to look up at most of them.

No one dares to question Glorfindel (though a few of the more tenacious court members look tempted), and he chuckles as he leads her to the path down into the city.

"I'll be getting questions about escorting a young lady out of the citadel tomorrow, to be sure." It's only fair, he feels - he had to deal with stories of guests he couldn't account for when Elrond brought people to Imladris.

"Oh, no, I hope you don't get into any trouble on my account," Alana says, smiling a little. She ignores the stares of the guards and court members, ducking her head.

"Nothing I can't handle." He's been talking his way around court hangers-on longer than the country these folk are so proud of has been around. The torch-light continues, casting flickering shadows over the paved path and the intricately pieced stone walls. Even after dark there are people about, along with Guardsmen in their black and silver, the occasional ranger in their green and brown mottled cloaks, and mounted couriers and their fine horses clattering past.

"Well, good," Alana says. "I'd hate to cause trouble."

Alana sticks to the walls, avoiding the mounted couriers. She trails her fingers along the cool stonework, feeling the texture of the city rather than just seeing it.

"Is the inn up ahead?" she asks Glorfindel quietly.

"Yes - see the sign with the red dog?" It's... well, there's certainly a red creature on that hanging sign, and if you squint and look at it sideways, it might be a dog.

It's... rustic!

Alana squints and looks at it sideways. "I think so?" she says doubtfully. "If that's a dog, that is. What's the inn's name? The Scarlet Pup?"

"The Red Hound." Glorfindel corrects, looking amused by her attempt. He pushes his way inside - inside it is warm from the roaring fire in the hearth and the press of bodies. Inside it is loud, with songs and chatter and (mostly) good-hearted ribbing. Inside the air is rich with the scent of baked dinners and house-made ale.

It's a good place to be on a cold night. Glorfindel raises a hand to get the attention of the barliman, then heads for a quieter corner, carving a path mostly by force of elbows. It's clear he's been here often enough that the locals don't care so much about the elf in their midst.

The warmth and press of people is welcome, and Alana loosens her hold on her cloak. She doesn't let down the hood, however, keeping her head lowered to avoid catching anyone's eye.

"It smells lovely in here," she tells Glorfindel.

"They say this was one of the first place to receive fresh supplies after the siege, even before the Stewart's house." Glorfindel grins. The barliman doesn't bother finding out what the elf and his companion are here for - Glorfindel's dragged enough people here that he knows the pattern. Soon, two of the promised meat pies are left on their table by a harried-looking barmaid, along with a mug of ale and a glass of wine.

Alana offers a smile of gratitude to the barmaid. She wraps her hands around the mug of ale, taking a tentative sip. "Why did this place get fresh supplies first? I would think that the noble's houses would be first in line."

"They should have, certainly. However, most of the suppliers eat here, so..." He shrugs, grinning. Honestly, he's on the side of the workers - he's seen what Faramir's cook does to food, and it meets a happier end here.

"Of course, Prince Imrahil was in charge of city affairs at that point by all accounts, and he is a very sensible sort of fellow."

"Prince Imrahil?" Alana says, cocking her head. She pulls her meat pie closer to herself, but doesn't dig in until Glorfindel starts eating his own. "What is he like?"

"He is of the old blood, the old sea-kings who founded this country. As such he is both experienced and wise. Of course, there is elven blood in his line, which I'm sure helps."

Biased, Glorfindel?

Yes, he is, a little. He won't be sorry, no.

He tucks in to the meal heartily - nothing wrong with this elf's appetite, no.