(121-05-10) Wakey, Wakey!
Wakey, Wakey!
Summary: Hungover Eomer debates a ten-year-old.
Date: May 10, 2014
Related: none
Players:
Eomer..Colen..

Citadel East — The Citadel

On this side of the river, the Citadel's campus is less paved. Instead of broad flagstones covering the ground in large courtyards, there are only narrower stone walkways and little streets, with gardens and small orchards laid out between them. Most of the buildings here are lower — they serve as housing for acolytes and novices, kitchens, laundries, and storage for the food and supplies that keep the citadel running.

To the West is an arched stone bridge crossing the Honeywine, wide enough for a cart, but not for two to pass one another. North of it is the weathered wooden drawbridge that allows access to the Isle of Ravens. In Southeast wall is the narrow Acolytes Gate, and the temptations of Oldtown.


It's just after sunrise on what promises to be a somewhat overcast and muggy summer day. The novices and acolytes of the Citadel have likely begun to rouse for their morning chores and duties before breakfast and classes, which means it's probably only a matter of time before somebody notices the nobleman sprawled unconscious beneath an apple tree in one of the little orchards. His jerkin is opened, his shirt is half untucked and he appears to be missing one of his boots but sporting the scruffy start of an I-haven't-shaved-for-two-days beard as well as a bruised cheek and a swollen lip. He snores softly, so he's probably not dead.

The truth is that even before his chores needed to be done, Colen was up and moving. The small lad's feet do not make much of a noise when he walks. His blue eyes look down at the man as he snores. "Not dead… Bruising and swelling indicate a fight of some kind. Judging from the state of undress, he might have been attacked before fully dressed." He says under his breath. Fingers run through his dark hair as he stands there considering the beaten man intently.

The beaten man snores a moment moments longer before that last one ends in a sort of *snrk* that has him yawning and blinking open hazel eyes. Which immediately squinch shut again as they encounter daylight. How horrible. He groans, a hand pressing over his eyes.

"If you are awake, you perhaps should be leaving unless you have business with the Maesters." Colen says politely, measured politeness but still polite. "Oh it's daytime sir!" Yes. He purposefully raised his voice to cause discomfort.

"Nrrrgh," is Eomer's response to Colen's 'helpful' advice. "Tea," he requests. Well, it's more of a groaned order, but you know. Nobles. "Or wine. Wine would be better."

"Wine would only delay recovery. Anyone, even outside the Citadel would know that." Colen says shaking his head,"And this is not an inn." He points out casually, still practically shouting to the noble.

"Boy," Eomer replies, keeping his hand over his eyes, "anyone outside of the citadel and able to grow a beard will tell you wine is exactly the thing for a hangover. And why are you screaming, are you deaf? You're about to make me deaf; talk like you're civilized. I'm sure the maesters don't encourage such poor manners."

"Oh I am quite able to hear, however, you showed no evidence to do so." Colen says pleasantly, lowering his voice,"And they think it is a cure, but it just puts it off." His blue eyes watch the man carefully,"This is still not an inn though."

"Do places that are not inns lack all forms of wine and tea?" Eomer asks, pushing up on one elbow and carefully lowering his other hand. He squints his eyes open just a little. "Or do you just make it a habit of denying aid to men in need of it?"

"We do not serve men tea here." Colen points out shaking his head,"Inns and such places offer tea at a price, and there are places that will give you such items free of charge but that requires a Maester's permission."

"Well then get permission, boy, and bring some tea," Eomer replies, "or save us both the trouble and just pinch some from breakfast. I know it's served at breakfast, this place can't have changed that much in twelve years."

"Perhaps. However, so far you have not asked." Colen points out,"I serve the Maesters." The implication is that he does not serve the man,"However, if you wish I shall fetch one of them and let them know you sought them out?"

"No, no," Eomer sighs, levering himself more properly upright and then slowly to his feet. "I've no wish to bother any maesters. If a lad can't do a solitary good deed without running to his master's coattails, first, I suppose I will just have to find an inn and know that charity has died." Woe.

"Doing a good deed is fine but it would be stealing from the Maesters to feed you or provide you with the tea or whatever. You, however, by your dress and manner, are of noble birth, so no doubt acquiring the funds to do so is of a significantly easier task than what would be gained by me stealing."

Eomer makes a small, dismissive sound and a wave of his hand. "If giving tinctured water to a nobleman is stealing, society has ended," he fusses, drawing in a deep breath and trying to smooth his hair down and look vaguely presentable. Oh, hey. Should probably tuck that shirt in, too.

"Stealing is stealing. Taking what does not belong to you. That is the definition of stealing." Colen points out casually. "However, I should be going. There are chores that must be done and I have used the little time I got myself free."

"You are far too literal-minded to be living in the Citadel," Eomer opines. "You ought to read a few of those books I'm sure you've been assigned." He lifts his hand in a vague sort of wave before he goes ambling out of the little orchard and onto the street back out into the city proper.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License