Iffalna hadn't had a bad journey from the Keep. It hadn't rained overmuch, she hadn't run into bandits, no Undead had come to confront her, her horse had not dropped dead for no apparent reason, none of the farming communities she'd passed through had been in a state of agricultural crisis, and no obnoxiously friendly youths or traders had decided to make it their business to watch out for an older woman traveling on her own. This, in Iffalna's experience, made it a journey worth celebrating. With a nice warm cup of tea, of course. Made by someone else, certainly. Her joints were stiff from long hours in the saddle and her back ached something awful, but she knew she'd soon be at a place where she knew someone who could brew her a proper cup of tea, and maybe even sit down with her for a chat. Iffalna was most attached to her Pony (the only animal small enough in the Keep for her to ride without being overpowered), but Hemlock wasn't an especially accomplished conversationalist, and even prickly Iffalna needed a good chat occasionally. Normally she'd bend Slayer Dersine's ear, but a week or so ago she'd had an uncontrollable urge to go see her old sometime-student Penril. Maybe it was those damned apprentices getting into Zruti's artifacts and flooding the Keep. It reminded her of Penril's endearing (if occasionally troublesome) antics as a youth, and she'd been caught so off guard for her sudden longing to see Penril that she'd barely had the presence of mind to make a grand show of punishing them to cleaning out the entire Keep by hand. That accomplished, she'd told Dersine to prevent the Keep from falling apart while she was gone, because she deserved a vacation from her job to go visit Penril.

Unfortunately, she'd learned along the way via messenger bird that pompous bastard Elwin had gleefully darted ahead of her to tell Penril of her apparent failing to watch the apprentices. She had been planning for the harvest that would feed him and every other Slayer in Olencia, keeping them all alive through the winter and into the spring, but No, apprentices had misbehaved on Iffalna's watch, Iffalna had to pay! Testily, Iffalna had reflected that Elwin couldn't be as good of a doctor as he says he is, for he hadn't yet observed the undisputable fact that apprentices were coltish, mischievous runts who were always misbehaving, and Iffalna always made them regret it. She suspected there wouldn't be any mishaps between now and the Equinox. She'd been particularly dramatic in her punishing of those last three apprentices, if she did say so herself.

Thus, Iffalna was a strange combination of annoyed at Elwin and pleased with herself when she and Hemlock trotted up to The Prancing Pony. Giving Hemlock a pat, she handed her off to the groom and ordered him to give her only grain and hay, but no sweet feed. It was bad for Hemlock's teeth. Well, maybe just a handful, they'd had such a good journey! She rubbed Hemlock's forehead in farewell, and headed on in to the not-yet-busy inn. In the early morning light, Iffalna automatically noted the condition of the inn's flowers and creeping vines...They'd been pruned incorrectly for it looked like three years, had Penril lost his mind? She'd taught him (and occasionally punished him to perform) good pruning practically as soon as he could walk! She'd have a word with him, she would!

Barging in unannounced (this was Penril's establishment, and if Penril didn't like it, then that was just too bad), Iffalna called, "PENRIL!!! IF YOU DON'T FIRE YOUR GARDENER RIGHT AWAY I'M GOING TO DO IT FOR YOU! NOW GET DOWN HERE, MAKE ME SOME TEA, AND TELL ME HOW YOU ARE AND WHEN YOU'LL STOP RUNNING THIS PLACE!"

((ooc - Eek, detail! I'll try to match that! (B ))

---

The talk turned out to be very bad, if Penril might say so. When Hadrian all but bodily dragged him to the palace, things got worse when the older man somehow got separated from him, and then he was left in the middle of a grand hallway with no idea where to go. At first he just stood there for what seemed like hours, his boots were starting to sink in the carpeting. He remembered how the guards eyed him as Hadrian let him in. They must've been wondering who he was, and why would the High Commander bring a bartender into the palace. Some of them might sneer and think that he had to have done something very horrible to even merit the attention of the King's advisors. He was going to be executed. It would be a dramatic affair, out in the village squares. They would watch, oh yes they would. Olencia never had an execution of a bartender for one hundred years now.

Well, he had to move. Penril took a step, followed by three more. He racked his brains for any childhood memories that might help him navigate his way through the Castle, but none came forward. He guessed then that this might be an addition to the castle. But that was pure nonsense. The King had long since stopped venturing into architectural projects. He decided that he would try the nearest door he could find. He did that. He ended into another hallway, and from then on, he got lost. Lost. No sense of direction.

Hours passed. He got hungry somewhere, and it was by lunchtime that the guards found him. Hadrian looked like an angry dragon back there. Penril thought the man would exhale a jet of fire on the spot. And then the moment they'd all been waiting for. Penril did not like to dwell on it. It made his coherent thinking go down the drain. And when he was disconcerted, he couldn't work properly. Today was the third day that he left the Pony to Madam Carmeli's care.

He was out by the docks, sitting alone, facing the sea.

~*~*~*

"PENRIL!!! IF YOU DON'T FIRE YOUR GARDENER RIGHT AWAY I'M GOING TO DO IT FOR YOU! NOW GET DOWN HERE, MAKE ME SOME TEA, AND TELL ME HOW YOU ARE AND WHEN YOU'LL STOP RUNNING THIS PLACE!"

Markoj jumped from where he was finishing his soup and bread. Madam Carmeli's fat head peeked from the kitchen and gave a nasty jerk. Markoj immediately jumped from his chair and went to see who it was. He hadn't gone some five steps when he came upon a woman with all white hair. The teen swallowed.

"Sorry, ma'am, right, but Sir Pen's not here." He said nervously.

((OOC: Lack of detail is just fine by me. I'm just a sucker for it, I know not everyone else is. :P))

"Sorry, ma'am, right, but Sir Pen's not here." A teenager said nervously.

Well. Then she'd just have to find Penril, she wasn't making her tea herself! And she'd have to give him an impressive lecture, too. She wasn't sure what on, but she'd give him one. Adult or not, Ablest or not, Penril was still a rambunctious boy in her mind, and they always needed sense lectured into them. She supposed she could tell him not to travel on his own. Never mind she had just ridden Hemlock from the Keep to Olencia all by her lonesome, Penril was just a lad, still.

Scowling and not even bothering to acknowledge the boy, Iffalna turned on her heel, let herself out, and stood in front of Penril's disgraceful ivy trellises, planning her next move. Where had that boy gone to? Oh, yes, that's right, she could find him with that trick she'd devised all those years ago...

Reaching out to increase her awareness of the magical energy around her, from the dew falling from the poor abused flowers to the wind currents in the air, Iffalna shifted her mental focus. She'd found this method by trial-and-error in the Dragonlands during her trial, and had used it a few times since. It worked well. If she could find an old, sick dragon out of hundreds of healthy, dangerous ones, she could certainly find a boy she'd known from the cradle! She'd start with magical strength. That would be easy to find.

Flicker of magic in the city, she didn't know that one, embers behind her in the Pony...She'd have to ask Penril about her! Was that Sezerix? Hn, she'd have to track him down, ask him what under the three suns he was doing. And that damn Elwin was in that damn clinic of his! He'd regret coming here, he would, but not until she found her boy. Penril, Penril, come out, come out, or she'd...There!

Iffalna hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes until they snapped open. She hadn't gotten a wit of information on the others, but she could tell something was wrong with Penril. Her heart twisted in her chest, and she set out at a run to find him, ignoring her aches and pains in her flight to find him and comfort him and maybe, just maybe, make him some tea, just this once, and only if he made her a cup, later.

So Iffalna dashed through the city, using her magic without regard for the row she was causing to make a way through the traffic. She ended up by the docks, with the sea-smell in her face, and her intellectual curiosity demanding she stare at that kelp RIGHT NOW. But Penril was upset, and when Penril was upset, Iffalna was there for him. So she slowed down and wove in and out of whatever it was dock workers were doing, and looked for a familiar chocolate brown head.

She found him. He was sitting facing the ocean, apparently unharmed. Iffalna's heart untwisted; at least he wasn't physically hurt. Then she got a second look at him and her heart wrung itself like a wet dishcloth; Penril was upset. And sad. And confused. She hadn't seen him looking like this since...Well, she'd seen something similar when his friends had died in their trials, and when Zruti had died. Poor boy!

Rushing the final steps to him, Iffalna lowered herself (awkwardly, for her run hadn't helped her aches) to sit beside him, and wrapped her arms around his torso and began to rock him, as if he were still just a boy coming to sit next to her and tell her about small woes, like how Zruti had yelled at him, or how he'd quarreled with Dersine. "Penril, dearheart, what's wrong? You can tell me, I'll listen." Privately she added, And I'll discuss your gardener with you as soon as you're finished, but she decided to let Penril talk first. She couldn't lecture all the time; a lecture wouldn't help heal whatever hurt he was harboring. Prickly as she was, stubborn as she was, Iffalna knew that, and she wasn't going to let her concerns about his plants overrun her concerns about him.

Markoj blinked stupidly when the woman with the white hair turned on his heels as if he'd never existed and went on her way. Madam Carmeli glared at him from the kitchen. The boy turned on his heels, scratching his head in the process, and shrugged.

"Ain't my fault, right, she just left! I ain't said anything!"

He glanced at the door. He wondered who the woman was, and what could she want from Sir Pen. He doubted she'd get much out of him though, ever since the gamboling in the inn three days ago Sir Pen had been quiet and absent-minded - he even broke three wineglasses. Markoj wondered what was up with that. Something was wrong with their boss, and they all sensed it in the Pony.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Markoj went back his soup and bread.

~*~*~*

He couldn't get his father's face out of his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't, and the more he remembered the disappointment, the broken hopes, his thoughts whirled some more. Though the years had taken him away, and though he knew he had the world of duties, when his father talked to him, pleaded with those eyes, he knew...

...he couldn't refuse.

But what to do? To whom can he transfer this mark on his face? He needed someone he could trust, someone he was sure would take care of the Order as much as the former Ablests had taken care of them all. He couldn't have someone who brewed disaster, no... maybe -!

He blinked when someone sat beside him and had arms around him. He blinked furiously, his lips parting, and then he recognized this presence, this existence.

Iffalna...?

And as an afterthought, WHEN DID SHE GET HERE AND WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE?!

"Penril, dearheart, what's wrong? You can tell me, I'll listen."

Like with Hadrian, his brain froze for a moment. Eek! She's here! By the three suns, she must've seen the plants! She'll have my head on a pike! I knew I should've gotten a new gardener! But poor old Simeon had no other means for his family!

He felt awkward. She always did this hugging thing when he'd been young, and even now, she did not think otherwise of him. He took a deep breath.

"...I've talked with my father." He said.

Father? Did he mean Zruti? Oh, wait, no, no, Zruti had said something when he'd brought Penril back that Penril was a royal child. Or something. Maybe noble. Iffalna's own ambivalence about her own family extended to the rest of the world, she'd promptly forgotten all but Zruti's distress over having to take a baby away from his parents. She always felt sorry for Zruti, then Penril, when they'd had to do so, and had always comforted them afterward. Come to that, hadn't Elmira been noble-born, also...? Who would have thought the Slayers were such an aristocratic bunch...

Wait. If Penril was royal, he'd be Prince. Crown Prince. Hells. Valleran's Hells and Fire, no WONDER Penril was distressed! He was set to inherit! But how had he...? When...? Who...? Was it that Elwin...? Couldn't have, but then...? And Belenus, hadn't he gotten sicker and...? Hells.

It didn't matter. What mattered now was that Penril was upset. And that his plants were hacked to bits by that ivy-raping gardener of his, but they would get to that later. Oh, and Penril's apron was a sight, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days...

"Penril, tell me what's on your mind." Iffalna commanded. "And while you're at it, have you been sleeping much, lately?"

"Penril, tell me what's on your mind." Iffalna commanded. "And while you're at it, have you been sleeping much, lately?"

He flinched. She didn't change, and she still had that effect on him. Wait, not just on him, she had that kind of effect with every Slayer that existed in the Keep today. Iffalna Briarose can make you dance with just a glare. He wondered why she was keeping from saying something about his plants. Well, she was like Valleran himself, but when she knew a problem, she would ask about it. Eh, he didn't like to talk about it...

He scratched his head. "I've been taking naps." He said, wincing. It seemed that inventory haunted him until now. By the three suns, what was happening to him?

"And, well..."

How to say it. Ooh, how to say it.

"I...I might step down soon." He muttered, his eyes fixed to the vast expanse of the sea. "I'm fine, I'm just thinking about all the necessities that need to be done, things to be completed...I can't very well rule properly if I have the burdens of the Order with me."

He laughed. What a decision. Hadrian, that old goat, he would've been gloating by now if he was here. Penril could almost imagine it...

Hah! I knew the King could convince you! Who's the freak now?!

He frowned. "I'm thinking of..." he gestured toward the tattoo on his face.

"I'm thinking of..." Penril gestured toward the tattoo on his face.

Stepping down? How? He would take the throne? Why? Had he gone insane? Those courtiers would EAT HIM ALIVE, she knew their ilk, she hadn't been a Slayer for as long as she was to not run into them! And if he was just napping now, there was not telling if he would ever get a good night's sleep ever again!

Then Iffalna wondered, Who would be the next Ablest?

She couldn't think of anyone obvious. Penril hadn't taken an apprentice, heck, she and Elwin had never taken an apprentice. The Slayer order couldn't survive without a leader; Who would the coordinate...Everything? Iffalna knew just how varied Slayer activities were, and knew just as well they'd all fall apart without a puppet master directing them. Who would collect new children to apprentice? And who would provide Penril's famous charm? Who would be the object of the first silly puppy-dog crush of every girl in the Keep?

And would she ever be able to see him again? She'd help Zruti raise him. She could remember his first word, "pretty", as it were, applied to poor Dersine as she'd passed by in a too-tight and too-low top. She'd kept vigil for him while he was in the Dragonlands, been there to grieve with him when Zruti died, helped him cope with the position of Ablest, supported him when the older members of the order resisted his rule. He was her son, her student, her younger brother, and her friend, all in one. She'd miss him awfully, were he King...

"Penril. Think sensibly. We couldn't go on without you. Who would be next Ablest? And think of yourself, you haven't slept enough, and you don't even have time to see that your ivy is pruned properly! Why would you even consider exchanging Ablest for the Crown?"

"Penril. Think sensibly. We couldn't go on without you. Who would be next Ablest? And think of yourself, you haven't slept enough, and you don't even have time to see that your ivy is pruned properly! Why would you even consider exchanging Ablest for the Crown?"

He eased himself out of her arms and remained looking at the sea. He turned to her and laughed. Laughed so heartily tears leaked out of his eyes. She finally remembered the ivy. You'd start to think he only wanted to talk about the ivy. Though the tears didn't stop even though his laughter had long ceased.

"It's my father, Iffalna." He said, turning away from her. "He's...he's dying." He gestured to his chest, where every reminder of the King's ailment, his sickness hurt. "He's so weak, you know. I can't stand it, his eyes. He doesn't deserve to end his days like this, nobody does. If I could do something to even ease his pain, I would..."

Silence. A few gulls squawked overhead.

"I don't want my father to die in disappointment."

He shoved his hands into his apron pockets.

"I don't want my father to die in disappointment." Penril said, tears running down his face. Then he shoved his hands into his apron pockets and continued looking at the ocean.

Iffalna took a deep breath and tried to put herself in his position. It was a strategy she'd learned from Zruti about twenty years ago, though she still hadn't mastered it. Yes, she felt other's pain, but she very rarely understood it, and even more rarely acted correctly to ameliorate it. However, she started by refraining from hugging him again, even if it was her first instinct, and it was just about killing her to deny it. From there, she methodically went to thinking about her own father figure...Oh, right, she'd never really had one. The last Herbologist, Gemma, had been female, and the Keep had taken an "it takes a village" approach in terms of providing her a father figure. Hm, Zruti then...No, the Ablest before him had been female, also...Er, then...How had Penril thought about Zruti?

Suddenly it clicked. Penril wouldn't be upset entirely because a stranger, to whom he owed nothing more than his conception, was disappointed in him. He was a bartender, he'd had to develop thick skin! "This isn't entirely about Belenus, is it?" Iffalna asked. "You're still mourning for Zruti. Zruti was upset you wanted to stay here in that establishment of yours, and you're still upset he died upset at you. Is that it, Penril?" If it wasn't, she would really be confused! If only she could wipe his tears away, but she supposed "no hugging" logically extended to "no touching", so she reached in her pocket and grabbed her handkerchief, holding it out for him. It must be uncomfortable to be crying so. Salt water probably wasn't very good for the skin. "Penril, sweet, are you still grieving for him?"

((ooc - gah! Forgive the shortness! I couldn't think of anything else! DX ))

"This isn't entirely about Belenus, is it?" Iffalna asked. "You're still mourning for Zruti. Zruti was upset you wanted to stay here in that establishment of yours, and you're still upset he died upset at you. Is that it, Penril?" She gave him her handkerchief, but he didn't take it. "Penril, sweet, are you still grieving for him?"

Now his confusion escalated. He shook his head.

"No, no, not Father, I meant father. The King." He muttered. "No, you won't understand." He turned away from her and walked down the beach. "Just leave me alone, I'll be back in the Pony soon and I'll make you a cup of tea..."

Again, his father's weary eyes flashed before him. Penril angrily kicked at the sand.

((OOC: Shortness is fine, sometimes there just isn't that much to say! :P)

"No, you won't understand. Just leave me alone, I'll be back in the Pony soon and I'll make you a cup of tea..."

Penril turned his back and kicked the sand. Iffalna felt her body change in density, like an offended cat. Her eyes narrowed and her core muscles tensed...How DARE he brush me off like that?!

Penril had acted like this a few times before. Mainly when he was in that painfully awkward stage everyone goes through when they're teenagers, just before he'd turned into the charming personage the world knew today. He'd mope around the Keep, wailing that no one understood him, that they couldn't possibly understand what he was going through. Iffalna was willing to admit being raised as a Slayer only to find out you're an heirless king's son was a pretty unique situation, but if he would only stop being less frustratingly male and open up and tell her what he was feeling, she would have a better idea of what he was going through, wouldn't she?

And besides that, Iffalna was a little hurt. Here she was, all the way in Olencia, and she wanted to talk to Penril. Not just about what was important to her, like his ivy, but what was important to him. This was clearly very important to him for some reason or another, and she had come all this way to discuss it. And he wasn't discussing it with her. So Iffalna stood, walked over to Penril, and planted herself in front of him.

"Penril, I did not raise you to behave so idiotically. Now tell me what's wrong and and what you're feeling and I'll be able to begin to understand. And if I don't, I'll make you a cup of tea for a change, the red tea, or the black tea with rose hips, just how you like it. Does that sound fair?" She held out the handkercheif again. "And for goodness sake, wipe your eyes. Salt water in such quantity cannot be good for your skin, and I can only do so much with my lotions. And I have a water bottle right here," She motioned to the jug on her hip, "You can have as much as you like," even though she was parched herself, "crying dehydrates you. Now talk. I mean it. Sit down and tell me all about it."

"Penril, I did not raise you to behave so idiotically. Now tell me what's wrong and and what you're feeling and I'll be able to begin to understand. And if I don't, I'll make you a cup of tea for a change, the red tea, or the black tea with rose hips, just how you like it. Does that sound fair?" Iffalna held out the handkercheif again. "And for goodness sake, wipe your eyes. Salt water in such quantity cannot be good for your skin, and I can only do so much with my lotions. And I have a water bottle right here," She motioned to the jug on her hip, "You can have as much as you like, crying dehydrates you. Now talk. I mean it. Sit down and tell me all about it."

He looked at her in disbelief. Dear old Iffalna, standing there like an insulted cat, her hackles rising. Something familiar for a change. He started to laugh - a helpless, confused laugh, however. He didn't know where to begin. He didn't know what to do, honestly.

"I told you." Penril answered, still looking out to sea. "I'm stepping down soon." He kept his voice clear and level, the voice of the Ablest when he was stating a fact as clear as the Three Suns to his Slayers. "I need to find a good replacement to bear this mark." He gestured to the tattoo on his face. "And then, I will make arrangements maybe. And return to my father, the King."

He folded his hands neatly behind him as he watched a ship slowly disappear to the misty horizon ahead.

"What is wrong is, much as I want to remain the Ablest, a part of me insists otherwise. I haven't been with my father for years, and he's on his last months, I know it. I can sense it when people are going to die. It's not magic, I don't know, I just know it. I have to be with him when he closes his eyes and Valleran takes him away. That is the only thing I can do for him now."

He tilted his head sideways. "As for being the next King..." He shuddered lightly. "Unless I can find a living relative, I don't think..." He trailed off.

"Unless I can find a living relative, I don't think..." Penril trailed off, thoughtfully.

"Well, half of the nobles in Olencia are related to you in some way or another, correct?" Iffalna added reasonably. Aside, she muttered, "And with the behavior of a few kings past, I wouldn't be surprised half us commoners, too..." And maybe part of the Slayers...How many siblings had the prince...Penril... had? Oh, right, they'd all died. That stream of thought exhausted, Iffalna remarked to Penril, "Surely it must be easier to hand the crown to Gayth or Marlas or your third cousin twice removed working as a barmaid in Maloren instead of finding a new Ablest. I think a barmaid might run the country better than the King...No offense meant, Penril. It's just that we need you at the Keep. Don't you see? Can't you just lie to the King, tell him it was a mistake and not to think of you again? Use a little magic, perhaps?" Iffalna knew what she was suggesting was more than slightly illegal and most certainly unethical, but she was willing to sacrifice morals for expediency. "It's true Olenica needs a ruler. But Olencia also needs the Slayers, and the Slayers need a leader. You know as well as I do we're in a bit of a crisis, with apprentices dying at the rate they're dying, and the old folks like me being picked off like sick Wild Horses by wolves."

More uncertainly, she added, "And I'm no student of history, but hasn't the crown been passed between houses once or twice? So there may be historical precedence for giving the crown to another house. There is no historical precedence for giving up the position of Ablest to take up a position outside the Order. You becoming an innkeeper was a bit of a sticky spot, you remember that, and you weren't even Ablest, then! As to Belenus' disappointment...Well, Belenus won't have to live with it long. You've said it yourself. And you're right, the most you can do for him is be with him when he dies. So why even bother with the whole 'becoming King' mess? You'll just abdicate and go on as you have, innkeeper Pen and Ablest Penril. Problem solved?" Ifflana asked, hopefully.

"Well, half of the nobles in Olencia are related to you in some way or another, correct?" Iffalna added reasonably. Aside, she muttered, "And with the behavior of a few kings past, I wouldn't be surprised half us commoners, too..."

Penril sputtered and blinked at her. Excuse me?!

"Surely it must be easier to hand the crown to Gayth or Marlas or your third cousin twice removed working as a barmaid in Maloren instead of finding a new Ablest. I think a barmaid might run the country better than the King...No offense meant, Penril. It's just that we need you at the Keep. Don't you see? Can't you just lie to the King, tell him it was a mistake and not to think of you again? Use a little magic, perhaps?"

He took a step back, aghast that she could suggest such a thing. Memory manipulation was something so taboo that some Slayers who've done it were executed. Not a very pretty death. He was hoping he wouldn't live to see an execution - the last one had been four hundred years ago, but still...

"It's true Olenica needs a ruler. But Olencia also needs the Slayers, and the Slayers need a leader. You know as well as I do we're in a bit of a crisis, with apprentices dying at the rate they're dying, and the old folks like me being picked off like sick Wild Horses by wolves."

Penril gave a sigh. She was right. She always was. But then...GAH! It was hard to decide! He hated it when his thoughts were so rankled such as now! He needed his coherent thinking! He needed it! And perhaps maybe the company of a pleasingly plump girl who was willing to talk for hours...

STOP!

"And I'm no student of history, but hasn't the crown been passed between houses once or twice? So there may be historical precedence for giving the crown to another house. There is no historical precedence for giving up the position of Ablest to take up a position outside the Order. You becoming an innkeeper was a bit of a sticky spot, you remember that, and you weren't even Ablest, then! As to Belenus' disappointment...Well, Belenus won't have to live with it long. You've said it yourself. And you're right, the most you can do for him is be with him when he dies. So why even bother with the whole 'becoming King' mess? You'll just abdicate and go on as you have, innkeeper Pen and Ablest Penril. Problem solved?"

Wait. Now that made his head throb. He turned away from Iffalna and watched the sea. It seemed like hours before he spoke again.

"I'll stay here in Olencia until my father passes to Vallerian." He said. His voice came calmly and firmly. Ablest back in business. "I will try find my cousin and then convince her to become Queen. Until then, I will stay here. If I have to take the Crown for a moment to buy some time to find my cousin, then I'll do it."

He turned back to her.

"Sound like a plan?"

Oh, thank all that was green and good, he hadn't lost his sense! She'd been worried when he'd gone all quiet and closed like he did, but Iffalna smiled at him and restrained herself from giving him another hug. "Yes, it's a plan." She'd have to keep him from dallying about giving the crown to his cousin, but he'd demonstrated that he would listen to reason still. "You'll continue acting as Ablest, then? What will you do about that mark, there's doubtless a scholar or two at the palace who knows what it means." Then she couldn't restrain herself, so she gave him a breif squeeze and stepped back. "And it's good to see you, Penril. I miss you. Keep's not the same when you're not there." She wasn't going to harp on his bartending, not now. Not because it would hurt his feelings, but because Iffalna knew not to push her luck. If she pushed him too hard, he would flee to the crown like the Undead from garlic, and that was the very, very last thing she wanted.

She went serious again. "It was bad then, meeting your father? I've met him once or twice, he's a very sad man, and no wonder, his life has been so tragic." Breifly she felt a flash of greif for the King, missing out on his son's childhood. Penril had been such a funny child. He had been a trial sometimes, too, but so were most children. "What do you think of him?"

((OOC: Confused... does Penril know about Oriana? If so, how? Just for my own clarification. Sorry for interrupting the thread!!))

((ooc - He knows he has a cousin, but he doesn't know it's Oriana. :)

))

"Yes, it's a plan." Iffalna replied. "You'll continue acting as Ablest, then? What will you do about that mark, there's doubtless a scholar or two at the palace who knows what it means." At this, she gave him a quick hug that made him feel as if he were a boy again. "And it's good to see you, Penril. I miss you. Keep's not the same when you're not there."

He gave a small smile and scratched his head again. Awkwardly. If this kept up, it was going to be an annoying habit.

"It was bad then, meeting your father? I've met him once or twice, he's a very sad man, and no wonder, his life has been so tragic. What do you think of him?"

He gathered his thoughts together. Slowly. And then coherently. Yes.

"About the tattoo...I think I'll have it removed temporarily." He winced. It was the only thing he could think of. "As for the meeting with my father...well...it got too...sentimental for my tastes."

What do I think of him?

"Well. I don't know what to think of him. I'm still confused." He shrugged and gave a laugh.

((OOC: No biggie, Ori. I was kind of joking, but maybe it's a bit of magical intuition? Or maybe Iffalna is a really, really good guesser! Pen, I'll post tomorrow, I didn't mean to post in every OTHER tread and lose track of time...Silly, silly me!)

((OOC: Thanks for clarifying! :D))

"Well. I don't know what to think of him. I'm still confused." Penril shrugged and laughed a bit. Iffalna smiled at him in return and responded, "No wonder. If I met my father...Well, he'd be ancient, but I have no idea what I'd do." She considered for a moment, then asked, "What will you do with your inn? Keep it closed? Won't that upset your customers?" She was NOT about to offer to run it for him, business wasn't her hobby, but surely she could find someone. It wasn't that she wanted him to keep the inn as much as she wanted him happy, and apparently it was important to his happiness. "And I could probably make some lotion, to cover that up. Like a face cream all the fashionable ladies use. If something shows through, you can say it's a birthmark."

And with that, Iffalna decided to attempt to put aside the extrodinary circumstances they were in, and ask what was on her mind. "Penril, really, how are you? Aside from the father issue, I mean. Are you sleeping enough? Is your staff listening to you? Do you need me to find you a gardener who knows what they're doing?"

Iffalna smiled at him. "No wonder. If I met my father...Well, he'd be ancient, but I have no idea what I'd do." She paused for a moment, "What will you do with your inn? Keep it closed? Won't that upset your customers? And I could probably make some lotion, to cover that up. Like a face cream all the fashionable ladies use. If something shows through, you can say it's a birthmark."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and let a momentary breeze scatter his chocolate-brown locks. "I'll have Aele look after it while I am gone." That reminded him. Iffalna didn't know of Aele, did she not? He coughed for a moment. "Aele...my apprentice." He could imagine her shock now. He had always said that he wouldn't teach anyone as long as he lived.

"I'm sure Aele can keep it running." He gestured. "No, I'll have the tattoo removed. That's final."

He turned on his heels.

Yes. That's final.

"Come. I'll make you tea." He murmured softly, looking back at her.

Remove the tattoo? He'd consented to remaining Ablest! Iffalna choked back her outrage. An Ablest without a tattoo? How would one tell him apart from a perverted innkeeper in Olencia? He was the ABLEST, for gods' sake! What would Zruti say?

But Iffalna decided to change the subject. They'd bring it up in private when there wouldn't be people staring if she started yelling. "An apprentice? Was that what I felt when I was looking for you? The magic in the inn? How old is she, and why have you taken one, Mr.Valleran-take-me-before-I-take-an-apprenctice?" She was surprised by him taking an apprentice, but most Slayers did eventually, and in Iffalna's opinion Penril wasn't as different from most Slayers, or even most Ablests, as he liked to fancy himself. It was roughly the equivalent of one's fiercely independent nephew settling down with a nice girl and having lots of kids--one was initially surprised, but one had been rather expecting it all along. Iffalna grabbed Penril's arm and steered him back toward the Pony. "And have you picked up on the rogue magic in the city proper? Should I go seek that out, or do you have your hands full?"

"An apprentice? Was that what I felt when I was looking for you? The magic in the inn? How old is she, and why have you taken one, Mr.Valleran-take-me-before-I-take-an-apprenctice?" Her hand closed in on is left arm. "And have you picked up on the rogue magic in the city proper? Should I go seek that out, or do you have your hands full?"

He gave an easy laugh, patting the hand on his arm. "Aele Blanchard. Nineteen years old. She was a kind of an accident, you see. I happened to have come across her when some rogue bandits crossed my path in one of my rounds...noble, by the looks of her back then. Completely lost her memory. I am half-sure she's Calandae blood. High-ranking. But the poor girl doesn't remember any of it. She has a hand in Healing."

Pause. That rogue magic...it'd been bothering him for days now but his hands were full.

"Could you seek that out for me? I would've, but..." He shrugged. "I've been fairly busy." With Hadrian Evaristus and all of the Kingsguard tailing him, why shouldn't he be? It was annoying...

It didn't take them long to return to the Pony. Markoj hailed him, and so did the other staff, and Aele peeked shyly from the kitchen. The girl meant to say something, but when she saw Iffalna, she very wisely kept off and returned to whatever chores Madam Carmeli had her doing. Penril left Iffalna for a moment in one of the private parlors and came down to the kitchen for the tea things. He came back to her bearing a tray, a lovely teapot and some cups.

Silently, but with quick precision, he started making tea.

With the familiar sight of Penril making tea, Iffalna felt herself relax...And with the relaxation came the exhaustion. "Thank you, Penril. I know I promised to make you tea for a change, but my old bones are acting up again. I think the ride from the Keep gets longer every time I come! I'll owe you some tea, next time." She took a deep breath. "I'll search out the magic tomorrow. I'm exhausted. If it's waited this long, it can wait a day longer. And that's a very lovely tea set you have, the Pony must be doing very well. I never thought any less would happen, but I'm glad it's going well for you."

She stopped herself. "Listen to me, rambling on. I really am getting old, I'm starting to feel it, and show it, too. You say you've been busy. What, between running a successful inn, and running the Slayer Order, have you been doing to stay occupied? And after you answer that, tell me, what do you know of the political situation here in Olencia?"

Iffalna watched him make tea at her ease. Soon enough, a lovely scent permeated the private parlor...

"Thank you, Penril. I know I promised to make you tea for a change, but my old bones are acting up again. I think the ride from the Keep gets longer every time I come! I'll owe you some tea, next time." She took a deep breath. "I'll search out the magic tomorrow. I'm exhausted. If it's waited this long, it can wait a day longer. And that's a very lovely tea set you have, the Pony must be doing very well. I never thought any less would happen, but I'm glad it's going well for you."

He didn't answer. Even the pouring of tea into teacups had to be precise with Iffalna. You needed concentration on it! Concentration and focus! It was not just a chore - what Iffalna liked to call it, it was a craft. The dark golden liquid sloshed quietly and elegantly into the teacup, and Penril stopped the flow just in time by tilting the teapot back and placing it quietly back on the tray. He placed a small spoon at the saucer and handed it wordlessly to the elder Slayer.

"Listen to me, rambling on. I really am getting old, I'm starting to feel it, and show it, too. You say you've been busy. What, between running a successful inn, and running the Slayer Order, have you been doing to stay occupied? And after you answer that, tell me, what do you know of the political situation here in Olencia?"

Penril started to fix his own tea, and in the process mulled over his thoughts and chose his words carefully.

"I've been going 'round every now and then, doing my part of exterminating some beasts in the more isolated corners of the Kingdom." He replied. "Haven't been doing much, since the inn's keeping my feet stuck to the ground. But I manage. I can't afford to sap down again - who knows if I don't get back my magic this time around, should that happen? I hate to think..." He paused and then sat down. He looked at Iffalna now, who was sipping her tea.

"The political status is as bad as ever. The more extreme leftists have started leaking out nasty rumors about the King's death, you know. Altariel Katrei spent a few days here at the capital, presumably to sightsee..." He snorted. "Sightsee my face. I think she acquired new hirelings in the process...in general, it's bad."

He took a sip of his tea and swallowed thoughtfully.

((OOC: Shall we wrap this one up? With the riots and everything going on--though I think they'd still be a few days or a week in the future in the Olencia timeline-- and the meeting in the Keep, I'm thinking it would be a good time to end this. If you want to keep going, by all means we can, but I think this might be a good stopping point.))

Penril was still being quiet, wasn't he? Not about the political situation--Iffalna was very glad he wasn't being quiet about that--but about his own life. What about his new apprentice? His clients? The pretty girls he flirted with? Iffalna glanced down at her (perfectly brewed) tea. Poor boy had a lot going on with him, she supposed, so he was likely to be quiet. And Iffalna didn't want to add to it. But with this news...Well, it seemed to her as though civil war was just around the corner, and something needed to be done.

"I've been thinking, Penril. I've been thinking a lot, actually, and that's not something I like and it usually gets me in trouble, but with this news, I want to get a lot of people to think with me. It seems like civil war wants to break out, doesn't it? Or am I being an alarmist? We Slayers need to decide what we'll do if it does break out. Who will we support? What will we do if a magic-fearing house ends up on top? I know the Marlas High Seat, Lord Tsuko, hates magic. What will we do if he mounts an effort to exterminate us? I don't think he will, but I can't say I know him, and..." Iffalna sighed and rubbed her forehead, then set her tea down and looked at Penril. "May I have permission to call everyone back to the Keep? Will you be able to be there to hold a meeting and decide our course of action? You're the Ablest, we have faith in you, and those who don't..." She smiled wolfishly, "...Well, you won't have to worry about them."

She sobered. "I mean it, Penril. You have a good head on your shoulders. We need your political savy. Can we have the meeting or not?"

((ooc - Aight. This is ending post. Thanks for that awesome RP! ))

~

"I've been thinking, Penril. I've been thinking a lot, actually, and that's not something I like and it usually gets me in trouble, but with this news, I want to get a lot of people to think with me. It seems like civil war wants to break out, doesn't it? Or am I being an alarmist? We Slayers need to decide what we'll do if it does break out. Who will we support? What will we do if a magic-fearing house ends up on top? I know the Marlas High Seat, Lord Tsuko, hates magic. What will we do if he mounts an effort to exterminate us? I don't think he will, but I can't say I know him, and...May I have permission to call everyone back to the Keep? Will you be able to be there to hold a meeting and decide our course of action? You're the Ablest, we have faith in you, and those who don't......Well, you won't have to worry about them. I mean it, Penril. You have a good head on your shoulders. We need your political savy. Can we have the meeting or not?"

Penril also set down his teacup. He nodded slowly.

"Yes. An Assembly is in order..." He said this half-heartedly. He had decided. He watched Iffalna out of the corner of his eye. She would be perfect for the job...She might have his head afterward, but that would be all right, knowing that he selected an able leader to lead the Slayer faction while he...

...but that makes it so that he had decided.

...

...well he had decided.

"Time to return to the Keep." He said, eyeing Iffalna.