[VanimaEdhel]

"Let go of the mug, my friend, before you bend the handle," Windheneb said to Castar, gently prying his hand off of the ale that the young man was no longer drinking.

"Who is he, I wonder?" Castar mused allowed, looking over to where the good Lady Aylwen was standing, conversing with another man. They seemed to be growing close. Castar did not like the man. "He looks as though he is up to no good. I do not trust him."

"That is only because he is talking to Mistress Aylwen," Windheneb said. "If he were talking to Zîra, say, you would not mind so much. Although why he would be talking to her..."

Castar was growing tired of the siblings' bickering. It was endearing at first, but now it grew to be a nuisance. Windheneb seemed to be unable to let a chance to insult his sister go by, and she seemed to be inclined to physically attack him each time he did so. Sure enough, Zîra reached over and smacked Windheneb on the back of his head. Castar sighed and turned back to Aylwen and the stranger.

"If only she would look over here," he said, beginning to grind his teeth a bit.

"Unclench your jaw, friend," Windheneb said jovially. But Windheneb did not know how it felt. He flirted, seemingly without attachment, to every pretty girl he met. Castar wished that just once Windheneb would actually like one of his female friends. Then he might know how Castar felt.

The three friends were all beginning to feel restless. Windheneb even ceased his flirting, seeming to grow tired of the serving girls. Castar thought he drank far more ale than he should. He wanted to keep Aylwen within sight, though. She was accomodating to his requests for refills, but the poor woman had begun to look a little worn. That is, until she began to converse with the traveler. She shot a glance here and there every now and again, as though subconsciously checking that all was as it should be, but she appeared to be more relaxed, at least to Castar. Did she ever look that relaxed when she was with him? He would have to pay attention next time the circumstance came about. Involved in his own thoughts, Castar missed everything Windheneb said, until the handsome young man forced his attention back to the table.

"-don't you think, Castar?"

"Hum? What?" Castar said, looking at Windheneb at the other side of the table. "Yes, I think so...of course. What was the question, again?"

"I said, 'The man over there appears to be making a good impression with Lady Aylwen, don't you think, Castar?'" Windheneb repeated.

Castar felt his cheeks turn a bit red. He brushed hair out of his face and sighed. "It would appear so," he finally said.

"You just met her, friend," Windheneb said, "You know nothing about the girl. Do not waste your stay here swooning over her."

"I was not swooning," Castar countered. "I hold Mistress Aylwen in the highest regard. I think she is a good person. And she certainly can handle responsibility. Look at the Inn."

"Look at the burned down stable," Windheneb countered.

"You know just as well as I do that was out of her control," Castar snapped, beginning to take his frustration with the stranger out on Windheneb.

"There's no need to get testy," Windheneb said, his voice becoming a little strained.

"Yes there is. I take offense at you accusing my friends of arson."

"I did no such thing!" Windheneb said, his voice rising to match Castar's.

"Boys, boys," Zîra said quietly, "Calm down. You would do well to remember where you are."

"I will calm down when he apologizes," Castar said loudly, standing.

"I will no apologize for something I did not do!" Windheneb said with equal force. He rose as well.

"Then I'll do it for you! I swear, you're both just like my children," Zîra said, still speaking in a low voice. She pulled them both back into the seats as a few people in the Inn turned to look at them. "Okay, Castar, Windheneb is very, very sorry he ever said anything to offend you or your lady friend. Windheneb, Castar mistook your words. Now shake and make up. Go ahead!"

The two men looked at Zîra in surprise. They had not been spoken to in such a way since both were children. They numbly shook hands, still staring at Zîra, who sat regally next to Windheneb. She smiled in a satisfied way, and the people that noticed the argument appeared to go back to their previous conversations. Castar finally looked at Windheneb, his eyebrows raised. Windheneb returned the look, as Zîra retained her noble, matronly position.

"All right, all right," she finally said, losing a bit of her smugness, "I'm sorry I treated you like children. Now start your fascinating discussion of the female mind again. Go ahead. I'm so intrigued."

"You don't have to get snippy," Windheneb muttered, looking down at his ale mug as though contemplating drowning himself in it to end the humiliation that he apparently felt.

"So I should continue letting yourself make fools of yourself? In case you forgot, the Lady Aylwen is still over there. She could have easily heard every word you said in your pointless argument."

Castar suddenly found himself feeling more admiration for Zîra than he felt before. He also suddenly felt incredibly stupid for his actions. He quietly apologized to Zîra, who said plainly that she needed no apology. Castar sighed again and looked into his own ale mug, wondering if he should join in Windheneb's drowning attempt. He knew his cheeks were bright red by now. Even Windheneb's pale, flawless cheeks were pink. They sat in silence until Zîra finally could not stand it any longer.

"Come on!" she said, "Someone speak! I can't take the silence anymore. It is far louder than any of your banter."

When they still did not speak, she continued, "So, Castar...tell me about how your family took on the profession of pottery."

Castar looked up at Zîra, who returned the gaze with very convincing curiosity. He finally smiled. "Well, we began the trade many generations ago..."

As Castar told the story, Windheneb gradually regained his composure. By the end of the recounting of Castar's lineage, Windheneb was out of his melancholy thoughts and was participating wholeheartedly in his usual merry manner. There was still a note of tension between the two, and Zîra often found herself filling in the pauses that existed in conversation when one or the other began to feel renewed indignation.