Take the drink. You're eager to join the happy crowd and trade some tales.

You take the offered horn-mug -- frothing with ale -- and join Madeline back at the table. She pulls aside a seat for you to sit at the head beside her, smiling the whole time.

“This the whelp you ‘tendin’ to wed and bed?” a drunk Rinvari slurs.

“Or bed then dead!” another cries, and a gaggle of tipsy men and women laugh.

“Oi.” Madeline slams her mug down, and the giggling ceases at once. “We’re guests in Lord Dragoon’s castle.” She smiles broadly. “The comments are better saved for behind the good Lord’s back.”

Seeing the humor meant in it, you and the others laugh. In a moment, the orating starts. You’re regaled with war stories: saved towns...ravaged towns; a tale about a Rinvari who slipped off a cliff and landed on an assassin meant to kill their queen. Sir Trips’A’Lot, they call him, and the young man in question waves shyly from two tables over.

Spurred for your own yarns, you share a short but endearing tale about a hunting trip with your father, and your first encounter with your territory’s guardian stag. The table grins wondrously at your retelling. When you’re finished, Madeline smiles warmly at you over her mug. The others -- either earnestly or, catching the moment -- become swiftly engrossed in a dangerous game of cards the table over, leaving you two be.

“Quite the adventure to have in these civilized woods,” she says. She’s still smiling, and you can tell from the lightness in her eyes and fluidity in her rapping fingers on the table that she’s keen on conversation, and good at it to boot.

You laugh. “Civilized?” you ask. The north is the least populated area of the kingdom.

“Compared to the roads I’ve wandered, aye.”

“And you’re looking to settle now?”

“For the right person.” She sips her drink. “I worked my way into a title; would be pleased to be shown what to do with it.” She pauses, mug just pulled from her lips. She grins wickedly. “Unless you prefer I be doing the instructin’.”

She sees the response in your eyes, and the heat in her grin turns down to a public-appropriate simmer. “Thanks for drinking with me and me boys. I don’t mind a {if male = true} man {elseif female = true} woman {endif} who can run a table as good as me.” She stands, and claps you companionably on the shoulder. “I’ll see more of you at the fancy shindig, am I right? Want to get you all alone. For now…”

She nods to the card game, and the cries for her to come see. Her people love her, that much is clear. You give a small wave, letting her go, and think to your next task.