The Splintered Axe Tavern
Wintermoor is standing a corner conversing with several seated Narnians who have doubtless wandered over to speak with him as he polishes his blade. The blade looks rather old, though well-kept, and does not seem to have seen use in a while. There is a large tankard in front of him that seems about half drunk.
Lanisen steps in from outside, a little bit red-faced from the heat of the day. He still has his walking stick, but he seems to be getting around quite well. He glances toward the little group of Narnians, and past them at Wintermoor, but he hesitates and does not move to join them.
Wintermoor glances up from his sword towards the doorway as it open and closes, Lanisen entering. He does not seem terribly riveted upon the conversation, focused on his blade, but is politely conversing with them. He nods to Lanisen, seemingly welcoming him to join if he will.
Lanisen hesitates another moment, glancing down at Tohol who came in on his heels, then moves to take a seat on the outskirts of the little gathering.
Wintermoor gestures to his tankard and says something. Hergel nods and moves off towards the counter, while another Narnian, an elderly faun, remembers his task and bids Wintermoor a good day. When he is finished polishing the blade, he puts the cloth and supplies in his pack, and slides the blade into his scabbard again, the younger Narnians scampering off.
Lanisen, as Tohol flops heavily by his chair, leans down and loosens the laces of his left boot. He straightens, blows out a breath, and half-grins to Wintermoor in greeting.
Wintermoor says, “Good afternoon, my friend. You seem to be quite out of breath.”
Lanisen says, “‘S just it’s hot, is all, sir.”
Wintermoor nods. “Indeed it is. It seems summer is fully upon us.”
Lanisen says, “S’pose so.” He glances at the window. “‘S later than I meant to stay.”
Wintermoor’s brow wrinkles at this. “Your ankle is improving, I trust?”
Lanisen assures him, “Oh, yeah. I reckon I’ll go sometime in the next couple days. I just thought I’d be back… oh, three weeks ago, at the latest.”
Lanisen lifts his shoulders. “I’m glad I stayed longer,” he adds. “I just wasn’t plannin’ on it.”
Wintermoor may seem to be gratified by this. “I will wish you the Lion’s blessings then on your trip if we do not meet again before your journey. I have enjoyed your company. But perhaps first I may answer a question of yours? I believed we were interrupted before I could answer you fully.”
Lanisen blinks, briefly thrown. “Sorry?”
Wintermoor says, “My pardon, friend. The other night we spoke of the years before the witch and of my lost men, and you asked me if I had spoken of this to another or if there were record within the castle.””
Lanisen says, “Oh.” He pauses, and pulls his lips between his teeth, then shakes his head slightly. “I just– I think it shouldn’t be forgotten, your story.”
Wintermoor nods solemnly. “Remember it well, son of Adam. And in time you may tell it to others so that it may not be forgotten.”
Lanisen hesitates, and nods.
Peaceful silence falls, broken only by the sound of birds outside the open window.