View Single Post
Old 04-14-2006, 09:28 AM   #218
Feanor of the Peredhil
La Belle Dame sans Merci
 
Feanor of the Peredhil's Avatar
 
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: perpetual uncertainty
Posts: 5,956
Feanor of the Peredhil is a guest of Elrond in Rivendell.Feanor of the Peredhil is a guest of Elrond in Rivendell.Feanor of the Peredhil is a guest of Elrond in Rivendell.
Send a message via MSN to Feanor of the Peredhil
Degas rose later than he had meant. The revelry of Larswic's sons had kept him awake for longer than he was content with. He'd slipped out of doors in the wee hours to see what troubles they were causing themselves and, content that they were no harm to anything but perhaps their next day memory, he had let them be. Eodwine would care for their irresponsibility if it was required. Degas had simply intended to make certain that they were harmless in the short term. Still, if they chose to make such actions a tradition, he would have a word. Saeryn had spoken to him of equally interrupted sleep and Degas suspected that Lin's may have been restless as well. The lord's hall hosted children that needed their rest and the sick that needed nightly quiet, among many others.

He thought of this as he washed, finding clean clothing folded neatly and smelling of light spring breeze and something else he was uncertain of; when he did his own washing, if he could do it before she found it, it was clean, yet it did not have that light scent of something extra. Degas had no idea how Saeryn managed it, but she was simply good like that. No matter how often he tried to shut her from his room, she continued to silently slip in and take care of him. He smiled. His twin liked to pick up after him and see to it that he was content, and she would never accept his gratitude. A pert laugh and a tart comment would be all he would get for it, he knew. He would ask Lin, he thought, how best to thank his beloved sister.

He thought of Saeryn. She was tired. He could see it in her eyes, though he doubted any of the others noticed it. No, Eodwine, he corrected himself. Eodwine has seen it as well. Since the fall of the wall and the influx of so many guests, she had worked herself harder than Degas thought necessary. He could find her at times that she ought to be resting, on her knees, scrubbing the floor of an unused room. Perhaps he would have a word with Eodwine, though Saeryn would scold him to near death if she were to find out about it. He shook his head and pulled his damp coppery locks into a horsetail.

Securing a coin purse and a dagger to his belt, he checked himself over to see if he'd forgotten anything. Coal black boots clean and on; dark brown breeches tucked neatly into them; shirt buttoned and tucked in; belt cinched. He caught himself worrying over his appearance and pushed it out of his head. There were plenty of ladies, he told himself, that he could have if he wanted them. There was no reason to worry what this one thought of him. He shook his head and called himself hopeless and grinned for a second in knowledge of his own lack of seriousness of his past thought. Tell himself what he may, he knew that he took care in his appearance over the past few days for one lass in particular.

She had done everything to him but acknowledge his continued existence, except in circumstances wherein it would be impolite to remain silent. When Degas spoke to her, and he sought opportunites to do so, she seemed preoccupied. Degas had approached Saeryn to learn if the lass had a pair of warm arms waiting at home to pull her close upon reunion and Saeryn had laughed at him and left him in more confusion than he had already felt.

Pulling a pair of sweets from where, upon his neatly folded bed, he had left them, he opened his door and made his way toward the early noise of tired voices murmering communication. A lad was injured; Eodwine assured Degas that he was in the best of care and not to worry.

Degas followed the sound of a lovely light voice and found she for whom he searched. He smiled at her and she blushed. Kneeling to her level, Degas spoke to Lčođern, and her father at the same moment.

"Have you yet had breakfast, m'lady Lčođern?" Garstan nodded behind the little girl as she nodded wide-eyed. Degas proffered a piece of chocolate to her, balanced upon one knee. Her eyes widened, if possible, further. "Then please take this."

As her small white hand took the candy from his large, callused one, Degas bade Garstan good morning, asking of his health and his thoughts of the weather.

Carefully ignoring Linduial, Degas complimented Garstan for a job well done, admiring the tight fit of the stonework before him. Finally, carefully, Degas turned to Linduial, hiding the second piece of chocolate in his hand.

"Good day, my lady." he murmered, brushing her own hand with his lips. As he released it, he tucked the chocolate within it. "I heard mention that you planned to attend the festivities today. I've come to beg of you a favor..."
Feanor of the Peredhil is offline