Freya chats with a guardsman in a friendly fashion, owing to her growing comfort in her surroundings.
Freya mumbles “… how’s … brother … … … can’t … … … … … cut … … win … match. … … … … quite … sport in … eh?”, to Freya.
Lanisen makes his way through the market around lunchtime, cobbling together a meal out of random delicious-looking things sold by various vendors around the ward.
Freya gives the guardsman a friendly pat on the shoulder…or rather tries to, but the height difference makes that rather impossible. She withdraws her hand, realizing this, and laughs. “Anyway, send yer brother iffen he’s having any trouble with his shoulder. That last punch looked rather painful, eh? I popped it back in, but he’ll have a little swelling fer a time.”
Lanisen pauses at a cart a little distance away from where Freya and the guard are talking and holds a brief conversation with the vendor. She accepts his money and hands over a small, crusty loaf of bread still hot from the cart’s oven, which looks rather like a large clay beehive.
The guardsman smiles ruefully. “Aye. Well, mistress, I thank you for your help. If he gets into another fisticuffs match, I’ll call for you. I’ve got to get back to duty.” He nods to her and walks toward the gate, leaving her alone. Freya chuckles to herself and looks around. She spies one familiar face and walks toward him.
Lanisen steps away from the cart, breaking open the little loaf of bread. Steam curls out of the cracked crust, and he carefully stuffs inside a chunk of white cheese and shuts the loaf again. Catching sight of Freya, he halts uncertainly, then turns fully to face her. “Afternoon, mistress.”
Freya nods to him, her attitude pleasant. “Afternoon, lad. How d’ ye fare?”
Lanisen dips his head to her. “Well enough, ma’am. And, and you?”
Freya grins, “O, best o’ health as always. Nice folks have been seeing t’ my education and I’m getting around often enough on errands that I’m actually learnin’ the place.”
Lanisen shifts, glancing toward the inner gate. “You’re– you’re here to learn from ’em, then? I reckoned–”
Freya nods in a positive fashion. “Aye. I figured I had things t’ teach and they have book learnings t’ teach me. It’s an even trade in my book.” She looks toward the north. “Even so. Even so, I’m missing the cool wilderness as t’ heat gets oppressive.”
Lanisen glances up at the cloudless sky and the searing white sun. “You get used to it,” he says. “‘S not as bad as it could be.”
Deonyc walks through the outer gate into the outer ward, carrying his quiver in his hand he is heading towards the northern part of the market, dodging carts and people.
Freya sighs and looks up at the sun, herself. She shields her eyes with a hand. “I s’pose.” She frowns. “It gets worse?”
Lanisen says, “No, no. Not much worse. I only meant there’s– there’s lots of places to go that are cool, here. It’s not like bein’ out in the country or somethin’.”
As Deonyc is walking towards the stall he notices Lanisen and the dwarf, he tilts his head, curiously, he walks over to the two and waves, “Hello Lanisen, and master Dwarf.”
Freya makes an unpleasant face at the thought it could get warmer. “T’ mines are nice this time o’ year. Same coolness year round underground. Mayhap I ought t’ come back in t’ winter.” She turns to look up at the Tall Son of Adam who greeted her. Her face is one of confusion at first, but then she grins up at him, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Oh? Aye. Pleasant day t’ ye, lad.”
Lanisen shifts and steps back when Deonyc joins them. He blinks at the title given to Freya, and opens his mouth, but bites his lip and glances at Freya, the corners of his mouth turning up uncertainly. “Afternoon, Deonyc.”
Deonyc sets down his quiver clamping it securely between his shins, “Soo, how come a dwarf from Carmichael has come to Anvard?”
Freya addresses Deonyc, “O, this an’ that. T’was helpful t’ my trade and I reckon those o’ the castle benefit as I do.” Her attitude is humble enough. “‘Specially as fisticuffs becomes more popular, I be in high demand.”
Lanisen frowns slightly at this, his eyes flicking to Freya.
Deonyc seems a bit confused as well, he turns towards Lanisen, “I don’t think we have all to many of those I’m afraid.”
Freya shrugs, “T’ young Prince has his following and t’ young seek t’ imitate him sometimes without proper instruction. I’m surprised fisticuffs aren’t taught more. T’is a proper sport as much as archery or swordplay when done right.”
Lanisen says, “I ain’t– I ain’t seen it much, but I’m, I don’t go out of my way.”
Deonyc nods in agreement to Lanisen, “I don’t know how much archery the princes learn, it will be years before they can even handle a normal bow.”
Freya shrugs again. “T’ fish their water and birds their air. I just patch ’em up.”
Lanisen glances at Freya again. He rubs his shoulder absently and takes a step back. “Beg pardon, I’m due back at the kennels.”
Deonyc nods towards lanisen, “A good day to you lanisen.”
Freya nods in farewell to Lanisen. “A good day t’ ye, lad.”
Lanisen ducks his head to them both, echoing, “Good day,” and steps toward the south side of the ward, taking a bite out of his cheese-and-bread as he goes.