Also,
@bird yells, if you happen to feel inspired, I'd love to read about Arnfinn's reaction to Nightfeather's 'unprecedented' success.
"Arnfinn!"
He turned to see who had called out for him and found himself catching a glimpse of his dear grandmother on the other side of the street. It had been bustling with a great many people, but they were clearly unwilling to get between an elder and a descendant in need of correction; the crowd parted before her like water as she walked towards him. "Don't think I don't see you there, young man. Were you about to sneak past me without so much as a by your leave?"
"Uh, hello, gramma," Arnfinn said. "I didn't spot you because I was talking with my friend Nightfeather here, you see, about how he's been accepted into the Hearth Guard-"
"I can see the griffon, fool boy, be blind and senile if I couldn't." She squinted up at the griffon in question. "Lord Snorri picked
youse for a new retainer, you say?"
Arnfinn fidgeted in place, feeling severely self-conscious and wondering if he should say something or just keep his mouth shut and hope for the best. Gramma wasn't exactly a brana-hater, but she'd lived her whole life by the maxim that decent dwarfs ought not to associate too closely with anything that didn't come from the bottom of a mineshaft and, as with any dwarf her age, wasn't one to change her mind in a hurry. She still hadn't quite come round to the idea of seeing giant magical bird people pass her in the street, to say nothing of having them don symbols of office and taking on roles that would once have been reserved for the most respected of longbeards. He'd really have preferred to have delayed letting her meet his friend until after the tectonic shifts of changing elderly opinion had done their work and made her more amenable to the whole thing, in maybe five hundred years or so. Managing introductions out on the street with no forewarning was less than ideal.
Nightfeather, to his credit, held up well in the face of suspicious matronly scrutiny. "It is so, esteemed elder. I have harboured the ambition to serve in the Gift Giver's retinue for some time, and recently sought to realise it by petitioning Lord Snorri. To my great honour, he acceded to my request and permitted me to swear the oaths."
Gramma sniffed, unimpressed. "I hope you're satisfied with yourself, then."
"Certainly not," Nightfeather said solemnly. "I am elated to have been chosen, of course, but also cognisant of the weight of my new responsibilities. In making his choice, Lord Snorri has set a new precedent, never before seen by the mountain folk; it falls to me and my fellows to show the precedent is worth following. I will only be
satisfied once I have proven, by my actions and in the eyes of the citizens of this hold, that my Lord did not err in elevating me."
"Hnh." Gramma's sniff was not exactly any less disapproving than the last one, but it seemed like she did not immediately find specific fault with the response. "Well, I suppose congratulations are in order."
"My thanks." Some terrible premonition made Arnfinn glance up at Nightfeather's face, then, and he felt his stomach twist at the sight. The crowface wasn't making any particular expression, not that he was especially well-equipped to emote with it in the first place, but there was a certain gleam in his eye that Arnfinn had seen before and which only ever showed up when Nightfeather thought he was being funny. But he had been far too late in spotting it, alas, because Nightfeather was already opening his beak again... "Although I would be remiss in not mentioning the part friend Arnfinn had to play in my success." Oh no. "His advice on how mountainfolk elders are expected to comport themselves proved invaluable as I prepared to lodge my petition."
"Oh?" The full force of gramma's squint was suddenly and uncomfortably transferred over to him. "Our Arnfinn's bin going about giving lectures about how a greatbeard oughta behave, has he?"
"Indeed." Please don't mention the ass beard thing, please don't- "It was he who first explained the difficulties I would face in pursuing my aspirations." A momentary flash of relief. "Even so, he encouraged me to chase my dream. It is fair to say that, but for friend Arnfinn's counsel, I would not have succeeded."
It really wasn't fair, Arnfinn thought faintly. Gramma's eyes had narrowed to the point they were functionally shut; for all intents and purposes, she was just standing about with her eyes closed and her face pointed in his direction. Why, then, did her stare feel like a thousand trip hammers pounding on his head? "Downright amazin' to hear about our Arnfinn putting all his knowledge as an elder to use, breaking new ground and doing what no dwarf never did before. You really must come visit sometime soon, Arnfinn, and regale us with the full tale of your exploits."
He took a moment to wrestle back control over his Adam's apple, which had been making round trips between the roof of his mouth and the pit of his stomach, before answering. "I, uh, of course, gramma. I'll come by first thing."
"See that you do," she said, leaving it up to him to imagine what unspeakable retributions might follow if he didn't. She turned on her heel and walked off, her boots making not a single sound as they touched the stone; he lost sight of her for an instant when a burly man walked between them and, when the obstruction cleared, she was nowhere to be seen.
He turned to Nightfeather again, who was sitting on his haunches with his tail swishing lazily behind him. Maybe there was a better visual representation of smug satisfaction out there, but he certainly couldn't think of any. "I can't believe you did that, you- you squint-dodger! Now she's gonna tell people
I put you up to this whole retainer thing!"
"I could not say what you mean," Nightfeather said serenely. "Every word I spoke was truthful and accurate. And is it not said that we must always be truthful, when addressing our elders?"
Arnfinn harrumphed. "You coulda still warned me that you were about to divert her attention to me. At least that way I woulda got a running start. Gramma's eye beams put yours to shame, as I'm sure you noticed."
"Perhaps it was a little unsporting of me," Nightfeather allowed. "In that case, would you permit me to settle our accounts by, say, purchasing you a pint?"
"Three pints," Arnfinn shot back instantly.
"It is settled," Nightfeather said, just as quickly.
"Uh, yeah, it's a deal!" Having made absolutely sure there would be no takebacks, Arnfinn felt it was only fair to give his friend some advice for future reference. "You know you don't have to agree straight away, right? Usually you're supposed to haggle me down to two pints, or challenge me to a bet over them or something. People might look at you funny if it's too easy to make you part with your gold."
"For most dwarfs, I am sure, you would be correct. But I am expected to follow the example set by my patron, am I not? As a servant of the honourable Gift Giver, small generosities are surely within my remit." He tried to pass it off as a casual thing, but Arnfinn didn't miss how his plumage burred up just a little when he said it. He really was
very proud of having been accepted, wasn't he?
Arnfinn huffed out a little laugh. "All right, don't start preening your feathers out in the street, ya big lug. Let's go hit a pub, and after I've got those pints in me, maybe I'll see about trying to forgive you for throwing me to the wolves back then."
"If the first three are insufficient, perhaps a fourth will help. Please lead the way, friend Arnfinn."
