The two trudge back up the slope to the field where the snowman contest is held. Rastellion tries to put on a good face, but is still clearly troubled by the failed attempt to get Archbluff to admit to the wrongdoing. "Mebbe we should leave it alone," he says to Immalaine as they start to roll the base of their snowman. "Trying to confront the mayor might make things worse." A quick glance at Rastellion's downcast face has Immalaine shaking her head in woe, her eyes filled with worry. "Mebbe, but what have we really got t' lose by tryin'? An' ye know these people here ... they have no one t' stand up fer them. Ye have t' keep hope that ye'll find a way, I have faith in ye." She reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, leaving a trail of snow on her cheek that quickly melts against her skin as she looks over the base of the snowman and smiles at him.Rastellion shrugs, straightening, and moving to start to roll the next ball, the snowman's torso. "I can talk to him I guess, though I doubt it'd go any better than with that accountant." He huffs a mirthless laugh. "Can't make things worse, I suppose... as I doubt the Association'll be getting any more business here." He hoists the torso onto the new snowman's base, then stands aside so she can affix its head, trying again to force a smile. "Still, with all these decorations, at least we've got a chance of winning that keg of ale, so that's somethin', right?" Immalaine lifts the head, standing on her toes to balance it on top of the torso, albeit a bit crookedly, as she nods to Rastellion. "Well an' we do. We've enough for a right proper warrior here, an' it'll be better than anything else on the field ..." she reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, looking over the naked snowman, as she debates where to put everything.
Rastellion straightens, rubbing at his back. "Aye, we'll make him charging into battle and... " He breaks off, looking past her. "What's he doing here?" Turning to follow his gaze, Immalaine sees the guard from the tower staring behind a clump of twiggy bushes on the edge of the snowman clearing. He makes a small motion with his hand, seemingly trying surreptitiously to catch their attention. Surprise flits across her face, as Immalaine sees the man try to get their attention, and turns to Rastellion. "Not that I particular want t' talk t' the man again, but mebbe we should go see what he's goin' on about?" she says quietly to Rastellion, as she leans in to kiss his cheek. Rastellion frowns a bit, then shrugs. "I s'ppose. If he wanted to make more trouble for us, I dare say he'd have come right over and made a scene." He looks at the mound of props they've piled by the snowman. "And, anyway, we need a longer stick to be this fellow's sword." He starts toward the bushes where Frostway is lurking; the guard, seeing that the two are coming to join him, steps back further behind the bush and out of sight.
Following behind Rastellion, Immalaine mutters something rather unladylike under her breath but keeps her face and her voice composed as they approach the guard. Taking a cue from his demeanor, she slips behind the bush, standing a ways from him, but still hidden by the snowy branches. "Yes?" she asks, her green eyes cool but polite. Frostway glances up at Immalaine, then looks away, apparently unwilling to meet her gaze. "I ... what you said miss, a little bit ago. It..." He breaks off, scuffing his boot in the snow, then says, in a rush, "It's jus', you're right, the way those two have been treatin' folk here. But there's not much aw we can do. My brother-in-law, Jack Judson, he tried sayin' somethin', and now he's beggin' for handouts by th' theatre. An' what you said..." He steps forward suddenly and shoves something at Rast. who steps back, alarmed - but it's only a leather-bound journal. "Here, take it. It's the one as Archbluff is always takin' special care of. But after the chewin' out he jus' gave me, for lettin' you in - when it was him that asked you up an' all.... Past time that one got what's comin' to 'im, and mebbe you're the folks as can do it." Rastellion frowns slightly and starts to thumb through the journal, eyes starting to go wide as he realizes what's documented therein. The guard looks to Immalaine. "Anyways, I hope as you'll think more kindly o' me now, miss. Jus', please don't tell anyone it was me you got that from..." He trails off, looking between them, his expression a mix of apprehension, shame, and defiance.
With a sigh, Immalaine gives the guard a brief smile and nods at him; her eyes more kind towards him, as she turns to look at the book Rastellion was thumbing through rather excitedly at this point. Leaning down, she can't make much sense of what he was reading. "Dear, what is it?" she asked, glancing up at his face before turning her attention back to the book. Rastellion looks up at her, a slow grin starting over his face. "It's proof, is what it is. Proof that the ale's from Bree - that and more. Explains the prices folks are charging here, too - with all the fees and levies an' special collections the mayor's been taking, it's no wonder folks here are strugglin'. But with this..." He looks over to Frostway. "It's just what we need, to bring their schemes to light," he says. "Thank you." Frostway looks uncomfortable. "I should've done something a long time ago. It's I as should be thankin' you, for remindin' me of that." He gives another embarrassed nod, then sidles away around the opposite side of the bush and starts to pick his way through the snow toward the nearby town gate.
Immalaine lifts her head from the book, long enough to nod to Frostway, before turning it back down, her face scrunched in intent concentration as she tries to make heads or tails of what she's reading. Shaking her head, she decides that Rastellion knows what he's talking about and she looks over at him, noting with a gladdened expression that he seemed to have revived his spirit with the information contained there. "So," she says to him, looking around to make sure no one was there, "Then ye have th' solid proof ye were lookin' fer?"
"Yes..." he says slowly, "and I think I know just the way to build our snowman now, too." He starts back toward the field. "Come on."
Twenty minutes later, the two stand back to survey their work. Their snowman depicts a warrior relaxing right after battle, shield still on his left arm, but his sword sheathed as he lifts a mug of ale - a mug Rastellion procured from one of the tables inside the village. He frowns slightly, studying the sculpture. "Let's be just a bit more obvious," he says, He takes a few of the winterberries from the sprigs they picked by the lake and, crushing them to make a bright red dye, circles the 'Bree Adventurers' Association' on the barrel-top that's serving the snowman as a buckler. "There... that should be plain enough that we're on to them, don't you think?" Immalaine stands back and looks at their handiwork, the addition of the red dye from the berries unmistakable against the wooden 'shield'. "I'd say, if he don't notice that, then he's in need of a good pair o' spectacles." She turns to Rastellion and wraps her arms around him, snuggling close to him against the cold as the day begins to wane. Rastellion looks up the slope as a he sees a small company of villagers coming their way. "Just in time, too," he says. "That must be the judges in front... yes, see, that one there, I think she's the mayor's wife."
A curious expression on her face, Immalaine watches the group come down from the village, the woman at the head nodding to a man off to the side as she makes her way down to where the fresh batch of snowmen have been assembled. As she grows closer to the couple, Immalaine can make out brief snatches of conversation. "Yes, that one is fine, the cloak pin for a nose is an interesting addition. Hmmm, this one was made by ... ah yes, she's Mara's niece, isn't she?" The man to her right nods back to her, and makes a brief mark on the sheet he's carrying, before running to catch up with Mrs. Goodnough. She pauses, shaking her head at one entry that seemed to have lost its head, before moving down again. "Well, and that is where the prop for the theatre went," she mutters, reaching up to tap her fingers against the top hat of one entry. "Have someone bring that back to them when this is over. I'm really fed up with listening to the theatre manager grouse about it being missing." Finally, the party reaches Rastellion and Immalaine, and Mrs. Goodnough nods to them with a smile, before turning to study their warrior snowman. "And now ... this one is rather unusual, not at all the average snowman." She circles it, her voice amused as she takes in the decorations they had added to it. "Come look at this one, Winston. I think this is the most unique one we've seen this year."
Winston pulls himself away from a conversation he's having with one of the town's notables, to stroll over, "Yes, yes, my dear," he says, distractedly. "But, as I told you, it's up to you and the judges what you want to..." He trails off as he takes in the snowman - the bright-red berry stains outlining the BAA shipping mark and the sprigs of winterberries gathered in the upraised mug. He looks about at the small crowd of people milling about on the slope, it not being immediately apparent who built this particular snowman. Immalaine watches the mayor's expression as he scans the crowd for who made the snowman, a small smile curved on her lip as she turns to Rastellion. She listens as Mrs. Goodnough talks to her husband. "Yes, yes ... I know what you said Winston. But I have to say, a snowman this original doesn't come along everyday and ... Winston, are you listening to me?" she asks, turning her head to look at her husband, a somewhat aggrieved expression on her face as she sees him look over the crowd. She mutters something, under her breath, and Immalaine nods in sympathetic agreement at the sentiment on the woman's face, if not the unheard words. Turning back to Rastellion, she nudges him and leans up to whisper in his ear, "I think ye got his attention." before planting a kiss on his cheek to cover up her whispering.
The mayor shakes his head, like a confused bull, and huffs a few times, catching his breath. "This... this one has to win," he says. "No, don't ask me why... and I'm glad you like it. Just... see that this one wins." He looks about nervously - and guiltily - still wondering who built the snowman. The corner of Rastellion's mouth starts to curl up. "I think we did at that," he whispers back to Immalaine, returning the kiss.
Carolyn nods to her husband, her face puckers briefly as if she'd eaten something sour, before composing it back into a smile. "Well, seeing as I was planning on declaring it the winner anyways, that shouldn't be a problem. Though, really!" She turns and mutters ..."Up to me, indeed ..." before shaking her head. "Well, the winner of this night's snowman competition is this soldier snowman." Immalaine hears a couple of sighs, apparently from those that had not won that evening, as she listens to the mayor's wife continue. "Thank you all for entering the snowman competition, remember they'll be running daily until the end of the festival. I hope you enjoy your evening ladies and gentlemen, and remember to stop by any of the food vendors for a sampling of their fine wares and, of course, a mug of our famous ale!" With a wave, she daintily steps past a pile of snow and heads towards Winston with a purposeful step.
"We did it, Rastellion!" Immalaine says quietly, turning to hug him tightly, as she kisses him soundly on the lips. Rastellion grins, kisses her back, then ushers Immalaine forward to where Carolyn is just starting to berate her husband in hushed but angry tones. "Goodwife Goodnough?" he says, breaking her off in mid-rant. She turns, quickly pulling a smile back onto her face. "Yes?" she says politely. "Here's the soldier snowman's builder," he says, guiding Immalaine forward. "Miss Immalaine Tattersoll, of Bree." As Carolyn turns to Immalaine, Rastellion offers his hand to the mayor. "And I'm Rastellion, factor of the Bree Adventurer's Association," he says, meeting Winston's unnerved gaze. "If you wife doesn't mind, I'd like a word or two with you - on a business matter.." The mayor looks between Carolyn and Rastellion, clearly wishing he had some third option, but Rastellion guides him a few paces away as Immalaine begins to chat with his wife.
The two woman watch as the men walk away, before turning to each other. "I must admit," Carolyn said, as she smiled at Immalaine and looked her over, "When I envisioned who had made that snowman, someone like you hadn't come to mind. I was thinking some burly man with aspirations of being a soldier, not a dainty little lady such as yourself." Immalaine blushes at the words, but smiles as she sees Carolyn's smile is genuine, something she hadn't expected from the older woman. "Well, Rastellion did help me pick some o' the decorations," she says, nodding, "But I really wanted somethin' that wasn't the usual thing people built. An' I'm very glad ye liked it. I must admit, being here in Winter-home has been quite a pleasure, even with th' cold an' all the noise an rushing about. Ye've a lovely home here." Carolyn smiles, delightedly and soon the two women are happily chatting away, Immalaine's easy demeanor distracting the woman from the men a few steps away.
At the edge of the clearing, a rather less complimentary conversation seems to be going on. Once or twice the mayor's gruff voice can be heard raised in defensive anger - though still low enough to muffle most of the words - but, as Rastellion continues to speak, the mayor's shoulders slump, and his tone becomes more pleading. He glances around nervously at the dispersing crowed - only a few are still wandering about looking at the day's snowmen - and urges Rastellion a little further out of earshot of them, waving at his wife to go on back up to the village without him.
After several minutes of chatting over their respective homes and the differences and similarities, Carolyn looks over to her husband, seeing him motion, then to the gates. "I really should be getting back," she said. "I promised several of the women I'd attend an evening tea, but it was lovely meeting you Miss Immalaine. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here." With that, Carolyn turns and heads back up the path, her group already having left her. Immalaine turns to look over where the men had gone, and makes her way towards them, clutching her cloak around her as a gust of wind chills her.
"But don't you see?" Winston is saying, his voice now definitely pleading, "half th' town's employed in the ale production - and with the wheat crop failing, we had to do something, an' we couldn't spoil our reputation..." He trails off as Rastellion brandishes the journal. "I'd have more sympathy for that," he says, his voice low but unyielding, "if I didn't see how the money you saved went to line your own pockets. Or how all those workers who started to ask about all this suddenly found themselves out of a job. Just how much profit do you think you'll be making when word of this deception gets out?" The mayor wrings his hands. "Please, no - that'd ruin us! Don't tell our innocent visitors about this. Can't you just put that ledger back and pretend none of this ever happened? I can make it worth your while..." Rastellion shakes his head. "It's going to take more than that," he says, then looks over to see Immalaine huddling in her cloak. The sun has sunk below the high peaks to the west and the wind is picking up. "So how about we go up to your office and discuss what those arrangements will be." He turns to Immalaine, his eye alight with triumph, and hands the ledger to her. "And you can hold on to this, and I'll come find you at the boarding house. I think we should have a nice dinner tonight, you and I." He takes her arm and starts up toward the village; behind them, the greedy mayor, looking thoroughly dejected, trails after, his shoulders slumped.
Up in their room, Immalaine finishes lighting the candles she had managed to finagle the landlady out of, looking over at the small table she'd dragged from the edge of the room and set with a small cloth and two chairs. On it, was a bottle of red wine, and a platter of cheese, bread, and fruit. Off to the side, a covered tray sat, the aroma of freshly cooked steak and potatoes fills the air. Debating on whether to put her hair up or leave it down, she heads towards the dresser, just as she hears the floor creak in the hallway and a distinct footfall.
Rastellion blinks in surprise at the arrangements as he enters their rooms. "What's all this?" he asks, clearly in a jovial mood. "I was going to take you out to dinner tonight! Mmmm... smells good!" Immalaine turns to Rastellion with a smile. "I thought mebbe, after the day we've had, ye might rather have that nice dinner here where it's warm and comfortable ... and quiet?" she said, walking over to kiss him on the cheek. "And it were easy enough t' get everything. Folk were quite friendly about helping me out." She briefly frowns though, "but if ye'd rather go out ..." she says. Rastellion pulls her close. "Not at all; this looks wonderful! And we've got something to celebrate." He moves to the table, where he uncorks and pours the wine into the two glasses. Immalaine looks happily relieved, as she follows after him, taking one of the glasses. "Ye mean th' mayor?" she asked. "What happened there? I'm reckonin' he's not going t' be hiding what he did much more."
Shaking his head, he replies. "Well, I agreed not to spread around news of what he did this year. He's got a fair point - that'd just hurt the town and its people. Instead, he's agreed to start importing the winter wheat they need, rather than t' keep trying to grow it local. They should be planting more winterberries in those fields, an' then they can be making more of the ale." While he speaks, he pulls her chair out for her, then goes to take his own seat, draping his cloak over the back, and passes her the basket of bread. "Then they can still say the ale's made here, an' it'll keep their brewers and all busy making the stuff all year." Immalaine nods as she listens to Rastellion, pulling out a thick slice of the bread. "Well, an' that's a great thing. What about the workers though?" she asked, before taking a bite, washing it down with a sip of the wine.
"All those he fired because they were starting to discover some of this, you mean? He's promised to take them all back. And, just to be sure he keeps his word, I'll be having a conversation in the morning with that Daley fellow, explaining the situation and giving him that ledger. As long as the mayor keeps to the bargain, well, it'll be in everyone's interest to keep quiet about all this. The mayor saves face, the workers are hired again, and Winter-home continues to do a thriving trade in its "locally produced' winterberry ale - since it will be made local, even if the wheat itself's not grown right here." He takes a large swallow of his wine, then grins at her, clearly having more to tell.
A broad smile at the news, her eyes light up with happiness as she listens, but the look on his face suggests he's not done yet. "There's more?" she asks, prompting him to continue, as she takes another sip of the wine. Rastellion chuckles. "Yup." He turns in his chair and pulls out a folded document from his cloak's inner pocket. "A contract with the BAA. We've the exclusive rights to ship wheat up to them and to distribute their finished ale through Breeland and beyond... I even offered him fairly reasonable terms - even more as we won't be requiring the kickbacks their last distributor demanded." His grin widens as he sets the document carefully on the nearby dresser. "A distributor whom, it turns out, is Archbluff's cousin. Fancy that." He reaches across the table to squeeze her hand. "And none of this would have happened without you - your kindness to those workers and shaming of that guard!"
Blushing at the praise, she turns her hand in his to squeeze back. "I was only doin' what was right ... but still, I'm glad it worked out fer everyone. I can't wait to see Lady Zandrianna's face when we bring this back to her from the festival!" Leaning forward, she adds, "And now, we should eat dinner afore it gets cold. Then afterward” ... she leans over to whisper to him, reminding him of what she'd said earlier that day. Rastellion chuckles. "Oh, and more than that - as this was your doing too." He leans over and whispers a counter-proposal - then takes the tray and starts to dish out the meal as Immalaine dips her head, blushing - and grinning - furiously at his words. "And that should warm you right up," he promises.
(Credits and love go to Rastellion, who provided the voice of the male characters in this story. *Blows kisses to Rastellion and grins widely*)
