Bethberry's side was sore. Not greatly aching, just sore. First, from laughing hard, but inside, where few could see how much she laughed. And, second, from a mighty poking of the elbow of Ruthven over this issue of finding Eodwine a wife.
Yet their demeanour was polite, caring, respectful, as the Saeryn and Degas worked through their patter of loss and recovery. Once the tears had flown and the embraces wound their way, the two felt able to address Eodwine's question, but not without giddy faces pointed at Falco. For his part, the halfling could not quite figure out where the merriment ensuded, for he was not one to jest lightly with the ladies, although, if asked, he would be hard put to acknowledge Ruthven as a lady.
"You ask me if I could help you find a wife, Eodwine, and well you might, for most folk here in Edoras work the matter the other way round, starting first with the wife and then following up with the daughter."
Now a man of the court and society such as Eodwine could never rightly be said to blush, but there was a pinish tinge around Eodwine' s cheeks that made a rare appearance. Was the woman admonishing him, he wondered? He gave her a blank stare as if to ignore her comment.
"Mayhap you know not of some of the rites of the common folk here, Master Eodwine," intoned Ruthven.
"I will ask you kindly to refrain from any rough or coarse insinuations, Mistress Rag-Lady," he retorted, putting a high tone of pique in his voice and allowing himself just a bit to look down his nose at her.
Ruthven guffawed and Falco hit his tooth upon the edge of his mug, his hand was shaking so hard with merriment. He rubbed it hard, with his hand, feeling it to see if it was cracked.
'Oh, we've ways and means of courting that the high folks of the Meduseld might not know of," continued the old woman. "We don't just hop into these arrangements handily like some think, after the manner of The White Lady and her Prince."
"Hush, Ruthven," cautioned Bethberry. "Let us not prejudge Eodwine." She turned to look a the man.
"What business do you think a healer or Innkeeper might have with matchmaking, Master Eodwine? Is it a potion you desire? Or a midnight ritual to prepare yourself for the proceedings? Or lessons in the gentle arts of persuasion and attention?"
At this point it could not be denied that the corners of her mouth were turned up in full grin, yet her face was full of a sombre seriousness. It there were all these matches to be made, why, she might have to put a different shingle out beside that of the Horse.
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