Faryn watched the man open the keg from the side of her eyes, not daring to turn her head and look at him. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than was necessary. She was severely outnumbered and didn’t went to hedge her bets that this man had any inkling of remorse or empathy. Her attention turned, however, to the two timid looking humans that came up beside her. She turned her head to look at him, taking note of the beverages in their hands. First instinct told her to decline each beverage, for poison was a great possibility but then again, if Cromir wanted her dead he could easily achieve it with more entertainment for his people. Her next instinct was to take the beer, a crude drink she often enjoyed when away from home. It was easier to make, easier to transport and far greater in abundance than her people’s whine. The atmosphere and how uneasy she felt made her want to cling to the familiarity of crude beer during war. Instead, her dainty hand plucked the wine goblet from the woman’s clutches. She nodded her chin in thanks. Wine was elegant, it was meant for diplomacy and it was what she drank in the capital while home. Her eyes glanced into the goblet, the deep red reminded her of blood. The goblet was brought to her lips, the liquid trickling into her mouth before she withdrew it. It tasted good, the grapes coming from a location she was unfamiliar with. Still, it reminded her somewhat of home.<br/><br/>Faryn eyed the man who lounged beside her, watching his proceedings come together effortlessly. He was a ruler, that was for sure, the way his men jumped to his command. He wasn’t one she would ever want to be under, though she supposed she was now. A king that ruled with an iron fist was easily over taken if things got bad. A kind king who ruled with love and affection had a position for life. She sipped at the wine, allowing herself the small bit of luxury as the liquid washed down her throat. The rumble of the mountain brought images of large beasts that dwelled under the ground. Had they invited something sinister into their lives? She prayed they had not been that careless.<br/><br/>Her motions froze at the mention of her horse. Eyes flashed up towards the mare and then at Cromir, the goblet being taken from her lips. Anger tightened her fingers around the neck of the goblet. Elven horses were not food! She understood the point of that post, looking more like a carnivore feeding station than anything else. She wondered how many people had lost their lives to a gruesome feeding. Then the familiar language rumbled through her chest, the vibrations making her feel the language in her gut instead of just hearing it. A dragon. Faryn looked at Cromir, openly staring at him now as she silently judged. It took great power or the perceived power to control a dragon. The elves had worked with the species before, learning some of their secrets, growing their knowledge of the world, through the teachings of dragons. They traded with several dragons, offering their gems and gold in exchange for such a privilege. Yet, here was Cromir, with his band of barbaric men, having a dragon live above them.<br/><br/>Her lips parted to protest about her mare before the rat faced man came scuttling up the stage. Her lips closed, her gaze centering on the man. At the mention of slaves her nostrils flared with the small motion of disgust. She should have guessed there were slaves, by the appearance of the camp and the missing elves. Still, being the center of said trade was appalling. Her attention snapped to the woman when she came bursting forth, her sweet voice misleading her occupation. Faryn was silent as the two bickered about the slaves. She imagined running their small little necks through with her blade she had tucked beneath her dress. In fact, Faryn carried several weapons on her person, the flowing robes offering many concealed spaces to hide tiny blades.  Finally, the two left, Cromir settling the argument about something to do with entertainment. Faryn didn’t try to understand what he meant, figuring the worst. When they were alone on the stage again she looked down at the seated man.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ffcc">“My lord.”</span>She addressed him, having not been instructed on what he wanted to be called.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ffcc">“That horse is the finest you will ever collect.”</span>Her chin nodded towards the mare that was being led from the camp.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ffcc">“You cannot ask for a better steed. Do not waste it on food.”</span>Her voice was thick, fake with the art of diplomacy she was raised to breath with every word. She hoped to play on his greed and desire for the best. On his leadership to recognize when stupidity and ignorance could be saved.