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Therian gulped his mead and watched as Branor did the same.
"Will you fellows be needing more mead, then?"
Therian responded before Branor could. "I'd like the stoutest ale you have, but Rick, here... he would be happiest with a fruity drink. Something sweet, and smooth. Have you anything a man of delicate tastes would enjoy?"
"We've a plum brandy, I believe. It's my favorite."
Therian choked on the last of his mead. This was not going properly. "I suppose what we'd like to know, but only if it does not interrupt your work... and now that I think of it, what is a lovely young thing such as yourself doing working amongst drinking men this late at night?"
The girl raised an eyebrow as she filled their mugs. "Do you mean to suggest a lass should not earn her own wages? I am told that Master Samwise's wife, the lovely Lady Rosie, was a barmaid. Do you mean to insult the friends of the King?"
A large man lumbered over. "Is some'n insultin' the King?" he bellowed.
The girl sighed and shook her head playfully. "Now Olog, is nothing of the type. I was just telling Rick and his friend that the halflings in the Shire treat their women with more respect than the men of their parts seem to do."
Olog banged his giant mug on the counter, silencing the bar. "You mean to tell me these boys are treatin' you badly, Antian?"
Rick's friend? Rick's friend! Therian was torn between introducing himself properly, expressing his irritation, and running flat out away from this troll of a man. This problem could be solved fairly easily, Therian thought. It would certainly show Branor.
"I was just suggesting that Miss Antian here was uncommon pretty, and that I hoped she had a papa or a brother or a husband to make sure nobody would bother her. Rick here was the one saying-"
Olog grabbed Therian by the shirt, yelling into his face, "I AM HER HUSBAND."
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