The Gold Lion Tavern
Market Square, Rhemuth
Mid-afternoon, date not yet specified, but possibly 1134
Seisyll Arilan leaned back against the wall, watching the crowds stroll by in the portion of Market Square between the Gold Lion and the Church of Saint Bartholomew. He had not been here in quite some time, but nothing much had changed, really. Lewis MacDonal still owned the place, and his wife Molly was in charge of the kitchen, which meant that the fare was quite likely to be as excellent as it always had been. The barmaid was new, though.
"What'll ye have, luv?" she asked him.
He didn't mind the familiarity. If he'd expected to be recognized as a lord and a knight in Kelson's service, he'd have dressed accordingly. He turned his attention to the barmaid with a winning smile.
"A pint of your best stout," he told her. "And a bowl of whatever that is that smells so good."
"It's a lamb stew today. Mistress Molly's grand-dam's recipe."
"I'm sure it's delightful, then."
The barmaid fetched him his drink and, after a minute or two, a bowl of the mouth-watering stew along with some fresh bread and herbed butter on a wooden trencher. She pocketed the copper coins he had placed discreetly on the table before him during her brief absence, laying a spoon down in their place. "Thank 'ee, luv."
Seisyll took a few bites of his stew and sipped at the stout, watching the world go by outside. As he ate, he kept a part of his attention focused on the bits and snippets of conversation around him, from the tavern's other patrons, from people walking just outside the open windows or going through the nearby door. One never knew what one might hear that would be of interest to the King, but it never hurt to remain vigilant. That was his job, after all.
Then again, sometimes nothing of interest came up. And that was fine also, so long as the food and drink were worth the price of the visit.
The blue-violet Arilan gaze landed on the person who had just walked in. That face and form seemed familiar, but silhouetted against the sunlit doorway as it was, Seisyll couldn't quite tell. The door closed, allowing him to see the person more clearly. Yes, as he'd thought, it was someone else from Rhemuth Castle....
[Next person? Also, any thoughts on what year this is? I'm imagining a warm spring day, but that too can be changed with just a line edit or two.]