Plates and silverware clinked together softly as dinner wound down in Gullstone's dining hall. A charred iron kettle stood atop the dining table, steam wafting from the contents within. With a long-handled ladle in one hand and a napkin in the other, a handsome servant girl went about the periphery of the table, asking the guests if they wished for seconds; thirds; or, in the case of Sir Alfric, fifths.

"Aye." The knight slurped, wiping a dribble of rich, brown broth off onto to the back of his hand. "Keep'er comin', lass."

With a gentle nod, the girl reached across the table and fished out a heaping spoonful of the contents: a rich stew of fatty dove, leeks, potatoes, and carrots; Wilharnese bay leaves and a splash of Aglil merlot contributed a more exotic, savory zest. No sooner than it had been poured into his bowl, Sir Alfric had dug into the stew with his spoon and fished out a heaping spoonful of leek and potato.

Though no one else at the table had as voracious of an appetite as Sir Alfric, the stew had proved popular with all the guests and diners. Even the notoriously-picky Thadeos seemed to enjoy the chunks of dove well enough, though he did pick around the potatoes and vegetables.

"Elise dear, can you see if Thadeos is eating his supper?" Lady Marisa Anselm asked of her daughter from across the table. Elise leaned over Thadeos' shoulder and peered into his bowl.

"Mostly." She reported. "He's yet to eat his vegetables."

"I don't like carrots, or leeks, or potatoes, or leaves!" Thadeos protested.

"There will be no desert for you if don't finish your greens."

"Greens are for goats! I don't wanna eat them!"

"There are serfs in this very city that would be thrilled to eat your vegetables. You will clean your bowl, Thadeos." Barad snarled, speaking for the first time since dinner had been served. The other conversations going on about the table cut off. Being reminded of the starving peasantry just beyond Gullstone's walls was uncomfortable proposition, particularly when enjoying a fine meal. The lesser lord Osweld Verne, a hefty man with a thick, full beard of black hair and wiry muttonchops, offered the table out of the uncomfortable silence.

"I'll take little Thadeos' vegetables!" Lorde Verne of Gliss offered with a hearty laugh. "Every bit of the stew is positively splendid. Lady Anselm has done a marvelous thing with it."

"Ah'll agree to that." Sir Alfric added as he munched on a bit of stringy dove meat. With the uncomfortable silence averted, Lady Anselm excused herself from the table with a smile, beckoning the servant girl to help her prepare the dessert in the pantry.

"If I may observe, you seem somewhat discontented, milord. I take it nothing of import was accomplished at the summit." Lord Verne said to Barad, hoping to at least distract the bitter lord from whatever irritant was bothering him tonight.

"You'd be correct. An arrangement was made between House Conrad and ours. James Conrad promised our payment of a quantity of jewels in return for service on our part. Aside from that, and Heldan's absence, of course, nothing of concern to us took place"

"Sold a vote did you? No shame in that, milord. Doesn't make a lick of difference who's making orders up in Skyhaven, not in the Weald anyway." Lord Verne chuckled before taking a swig of the Stormgully merlot in his goblet. "But jewels... jewels we can do something with." Sir Alfric rolled his eyes.

"Unfortunately, however, there has been a complication. Heldan and I spoke by means of sightstone this afternoon. There is talk of Jame's family being arrested in the South, and House Benedikt has made the argument for naval embargo of the Sharktooth Isles."

"You fear you will never receive your due payment?" Osweld Verne deduced, eliciting a tacit nod from Barad.

"Sounds t'me that we'd ought ta collect on yer payment, m'lord." Sir Alfric chimed in, mopping up the remaining broth in his bowl with a slice of rye bread. "Kammeth's sake, Ah'll do it. Take one'a them boats to the Sharktooth Isle and get yer soddin' rocks. Don't even know what the fuss is about; I can't reckon how they plan t'carry out their, erm... what was it called again?"

"Embargo." Osweld and Barad said in unison.

"Right." Sir Alfric popped the broth-soaked slice of bread in his mouth. "How do ya think they figure they're going to do that when James' got the Sharktooth Armada? Ah'll show up, get the stinkin' jewels, and be off before we 'ave any trouble with this embargo business."

"You would do such a thing? I fear an element of danger. I do not wish to lose you, Sir Alfric."

"When, m'lord, do ya think a spot'a danger's ever been a concern ta me? Ah'll take one'a the boats in the 'arbor, sail around past good ol' Gliss, get the jewels from James' cousin or some such, and make mah merry way back home. Ah'll be back in a fortnight."

"You would be doing a tremendous service to the realm, Sir Alfric. I'll see to it that you have a ship and crew prepared for your departure tomorrow."

"I don't need no crew, m'lord. Gimme a few crowns to have one of these Karvina boats take a detour on their way home, Sers Percy and Rendel, and Ah'll 'ave yer gems before ya know it."

"Persimmon cakes!" Thadeos exclaimed, practically jumping up in his seat. "My favorite!"

The topic between the lords and the knight was put on hold by the arrival of dessert. From the pantry came Lady Anselm and her servant girl, each with a heaping plate of golden pastries. Nostrils sniffed up the sweet smell of honey-sweetened cakes as they were brought to the table.

"These look positively [i]delectable[/i], Lady Anselm." Crooned Lord Verne.

"They are. But do be careful: I imagine they're quite hot yet."

His mother's warning did little to hold off young Thadeos, who practically crawled across the table to snatch one of the pastries. Elise shoved him back into his seat. "You've not finished your vegetables, Thadeos." Elise reminded. Without further protest, Thadeos upended his bowl and bolted what remained of his helping of stew. Without so much as the slightest bit of chewing, Thadeos gulped his vegetables down and shoved his bowl aside before reaching again for a persimmon cake. The rest of the diners soon reached for their own pastry, albeit in a more controlled and reserved fashion than young Thadeos.

"Oh my..." Lord Osweld Verne exclaimed after tasting his first bite. He had bitten through the moist, spongy outer layer of pastry into a steaming core of saccharine persimmon pulp. "These are [i]extraordinary[/i]. Lady Anselm, you must provide my wife with the recipe!"

"They are surprisingly simple to make. What's difficult is finding good persimmons. They have a terrible penchant for spoiling; the fruit goes rancid well before you can ever get them to market, so you must have a local tree. Fortunately, our Gina here went out to the wood's edge where a few trees with ripened fruits may be found. She deserves the lion's share of the praise for them."

"Well then, miss Gina, you have my thanks!" Osweld told the servant girl.

"Ya got mine too." Sir Alfric said with a mouthfull of vermillion persimmon pulp. "By th'way, speakin'a my ol' Gliss, how fairs the place, Lord Verne?"

"Quite cool of late." The minor lord of Gliss reported after swallowing a bite of pastry. "I was quite surprised to come down to Riddom yesterday to find it much colder than I have ever seen it in Gliss. I can only imagine how cold it has gotten since my departure. Winter is coming indeed, and it seems it shall arrive first at Gliss!" 

"Also," Osweld added after a sip of merlot, "there's been some unfortunate incidents with the people of the deep woods lately. There was a peasant girl that was taken one night, presumably into the deep woods for some nefarious scheme; dreadful affair, that one."

"Damnable Eldfolk." Alfric snarled.

"I trust you dispatched the knights after her?" A sympathetic Elise asked.

"I did, yes... but I have little hope of them returning with the girl. One would have an easier time of finding a grit of sand in that kettle of stew there than a handful of knights searching the deep woods for a missing peasant girl. I am confident that Sers Hammond and Rolf are doing as much as they can, but I will be the first to admit it a nearly-impossible task."

"Know this, young Elise: House Anselm rules the Weald, but it is the Eldfolk who control it. That poor girl is in their realm now, and fear she shan't return from it."