The ale flows freely

"Sire! Thank you for accepting my invitation," Melisande says as you enter the courtyard of the Inn. Though her welcome is jubilant, a slight hush falls upon the crowd as those who are visitors to Elyssia are unsure whether they should bow, raise their cups, or otherwise recognize the arrival of the King in their midst. Those who are Melisande's frequent customers know that you prefer not to stand on ceremony, especially when you've come to the Inn to enjoy yourself.

"May I have a horn of ale, Melisande?" you ask her, glancing sideways at the people seated at tables, stools, and around firepits.

"I thought you might," she says, passing it over with a smile.

You take the horn and with two long strides, leap atop one of the tables, holding the horn up high. "Guests of the Inn!" you call out, and the crowd does go silent now. "To those whom I have not met before: yes, I am the King. If anyone here feels a **** need to bow or kneel, please do it now and get it over with. But I did not come here to hold court or make proclamations; I came to enjoy Lady Melisande's hospitality, drink her fine brew, and have a good time amidst happy company. If I buy the next round for the house, would you all be kind enough to ignore the crown I'm not wearing for the next few hours?"

"I'll drink ta that!" yells a large, burly man with whom you are unfamiliar; he raises TWO pints of beer, and as you tip back your horn of ale he pours one of them down his own throat. The crowd lets out a cheer, and the conversation returns to an even more jovial level than it had been as you arrived. You toss the empty horn to a random guest, then jump down from the tabletop. You are met with a glare from Sanja, the barmaid.

"As you wish not to be treated as King until the noon bell, Xavier, I'll thank you NOT to get your dirty bootprints all over my tables," she says, and it's only because you know her moods so well that you can hear the smile in her words; there's certainly no hint of it on her face!

"A thousand pardons, dear Sanja. I assure you, I will see to it that I face justice for this misdeed."

"Buy a bottle of my Lady's finest wine that we might share it together once the madness of this festival is over, and all will be forgiven," Sanja says with a wink.

"Consider it done! And now, I think I'd like a pint of whatever that great bull of a fellow over there is drinking, as it seems to make a man joyful, and that is something I am in sore need of."

"Oh, do you know each other?" Melisande asks. You think that perhaps she is joking, but she seems sincerely confused.

"We've never met. Who is he?"

"He calls himself Bull," Melisande says with a smile. "Apparently, he's well-named, if you knew it just by looking upon him. He was taking on all comers in the wrestling pits yesterday, and one by one made a fool of every man who dared to challenge him. I thought that he might be a useful fellow to have around for when the patrons become unruly, but now I wonder if I could pay him enough to satisfy his thirst! He's put down six pints already; I tell you, I think he could challenge even Magnus at the game o' drink."

"I'm afraid I won't be playing that game today, Melisande; I only get to not be King for an hour or two." You take a pull on the beer, and add, "And, at this hour of the day, just one pint of your strongest brew should be sufficient!"

"Well, as a courtesy to my favorite customer if not the King, I've saved your favorite seat for you, over there under the Apple tree. Put your cares aside for now, I know you have them aplenty."

The momentary loss of the spark in her eyes tells you that Melisande has likely heard news of what weighs on your mind the most, the matter of Abdul's ****. It is no surprise that word has reached her ears; Melisande has a way of hearing all the whispers and rumors, and sometimes it seems she is better-informed than your council. You **** a smile, then go take your place under the apple tree, on the same simple bench where you used to sit when you were a but a blacksmith's apprentice and had a few coins to spend at the Inn. (Melisande had once replaced it with a more comfortable chair, but somehow sitting on the bench with your back against the trunk of the tree is far more restful.)

You glance around the courtyard, taking note of who is present. Many faces are known to you, but just as many are not. There is Johann the Silversmith, a man you know well from your childhood in the Smithyard, and perhaps the only man in the Kingdom who habitually treats you just as he did before you were King. Arethousa seems to be taking some time away from the bathing pools, though the Inn is practically next door to them so she could be there at a moment's notice if she were needed; she is dressed in a flowing white gown which resembles the togas worn by the ancient Greeks who she counts among her ancestors. At an elevated table near the bar are a number of Elyssia's wealthier citizens, including Thibault de Pomeroy, son of Bertrand; the Pomeroy house is not one you would consider allied to the crown, but Thibault is certainly less antagonistic than his father. You can see a pair of men in a far corner who must have arrived with the Sultan; they look vaguely uncomfortable, as his people do not partake of wine and beer, and do not seem to know what to do with themselves in a place where people come to drink. Of course, anyone present would be pleased to come and join you, or would graciously make room for you among their group; all you need do is make your wishes known.