Page 45 of Sorcery, Swords & Scones
Lira, who had been lifting a mug of chai to her lips, almost dropped it in surprise. Only Cali's quick reflexes saved the ceramic vessel from shattering on the floor as the Tabaxi roused herself from sleep, reached across the table, and snatched the mug from Lira's suddenly slack fingers.
"I'm so sorry to intrude.” Erindil lifted one elegant hand to flick a strand of silver hair from his face, the gesture somehow both casual and theatrical. "But I bring news."
The tavern fell into a stunned silence broken only by the soft crackle of the dying embers in the hearth and the thunk of a pewter mug as Rog nearly dropped his ale and stared slack-jawed at the newcomers streaming through the door. At least Erindil had been convinced to leave Glen tethered outside the tavern.
The traveling lute player seemed to be the only one undeterred by the charged atmosphere. He quickly found a chair tucked in a corner and began tuning his instrument. The gentle plinking of strings snapped Korl from his shock.
The orc rose from his chair and moved toward Lira, putting a hand on her shoulder. If he’d been planning to explain who the visitor was, Lira beat him to it.
She stood, lifting her chin so she looked nearly as regal as her uncle. “I know who this is.”
Erindil's face brightened at this. "Lira, my dear.” He flattened a bejeweled hand to his heart. "I would know you anywhere." Then he sank into a courtly bow. “I am Erindil, your uncle.”
Sass watched her friend carefully, wondering how Lira would react to the relative she’d never met but who clearly knew her. It wasn’t every day you met an elf wearing a nightgown trimmed in peacock feathers, much less one related to you.
But Lira managed a smile, though Sass could see the tightness around her eyes that suggested she was struggling with complicated emotions. "We heard you left your campsite.”
Erindil bustled forward and took Lira's hands in both of his. "We were forced to leave unless we wished to be overrun by the dwarves.” He shuddered, his long nose wrinkling. "If there's one thing I can't abide, it's a band of dwarves." Then his gaze flicked to Thrain and to Sass. "No offense intended, my dears."
In this one instance, Sass found herself in the unusual position of agreeing with the elf. "None taken.”
Thrain, however, didn’t appear as forgiving. His lips had disappeared in a tight line somewhere within his beard, and his eyes were slits.
"I'm glad you and your friends are okay," Lira said after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.
The friends in question were wasting no time making themselves comfortable in the tavern, filling the tables and even bellying up to the bar. Vaskel took his post behind it, and Sass wasn’t sure if he was there to offer drinks or make sure the finely dressed guests didn’t help themselves.
Erindil's grip on Lira's hands tightened, and his eyes shone. "Can you ever forgive me? This isn't the first time I've been to Wayside, nor the first time I've seen you."
Lira nodded slowly. "I know you bought the tavern for Sass and me. Thank you.”
The elf fluttered one hand dismissively, though his smile remained genial. "The least I could do, my dear. The very least."
Lira slid Sass a look, but Sass didn’t think it was her call to make. She shrugged, and Lira scrunched her lips to one side. Or maybe Lira wanted her to make the call.
“We don't have room to put everyone up at the tavern,” Sass said before Lira had to, “but there's chai if you and your traveling party are thirsty.”
Erindil pivoted to her and beamed. "You serve chai? How absolutely delightful!"
For an immortal being who clearly had the means to surround himself with opulence, Erindil was easily impressed.
Lira stood and smoothed her hands down the front of her apron. “I’ll get a fresh pot of chai started.”
“My cook can help,” Erindil said, as the woman they’d seen cooking at their campsite followed Lira to the kitchen.
The rest of the new guests continued to make themselves at home, rearranging benches and chairs and even settling on the blankets spread in front of the hearth. Cali was begrudgingly making room while Thrain was grumbling under his breath about there being "too many bloody elves for his liking," though he kept his voice low enough that hopefully not everyone heard him.
Val cleared her throat above the din. “Erindil has more information.”
The elf snapped his fingers as if he'd completely forgotten the urgent nature of his visit. "Of course!" He graced Val with a beneficent smile. "Thank you for reminding me, my dear. We didn’t come only hoping for the warm welcome we’ve received.”
He lowered himself into one of the ladder-back chairs, flinching slightly when he touched down on hard wood. “Like I mentioned earlier, we left our campsite because my sentries spotted a dwarf party headed our way. Normally, a bunch of mountain-dwellers wouldn't bother me." He gave Sass another glance. "Again, no offense, dear."
Sass shot Thrain a quelling look to keep him from throttling the elf.
Erindil interlaced his long fingers and settled them over one knee. “But these dwarves seemed unusually well-armed and spoiling for a fight."
Rog nodded grimly from where he sat, now flanked and overshadowed by Erindil’s attendants. "Rosie and I saw the same dwarves on our way here. We steered well clear of them. They looked like they meant business, and not the pleasant kind."
