Darien rode Elliot the distance from the Keep back to his own Fiefdom with a bit of confusion. Granted, he had not gotten the stag and he most definitely didn't have the king's favor. However, he had gotten a smile from Lady Argyle. That would suffice for now.

Darien looked around him and was not all that thrilled to see his best man watching everything around him like a hawk, as well as a few soldiers travelling with him. Darien had never been keen on travelling with such a large group.

"But it's a sign of rank, son," his mother said shortly before he left for the Keep.

Darien began recognizing the landscape and had a feeling of dread come over him. Whenever he left his mother alone for a long period of time she always had a prospective bride or two roaming around the palace. Darien decided to slow Elliot's pace as he continued on the trail.

Darien saw an Inn just up the way and called to his captain to ride ahead and have them prepare rooms for them for the night. He continued on the trail until he finally came in front of the Inn. A young man came and relieved the men of their horses.

"Take my things to my room, I'll be having a pint if you don't mind," Darien said looking at his best man and self-appointed body guard as if to tell him to let him be alone. Though Darien could not see the man, the man's eyes were always on Darien. Albert was a bit too good at his job, if truth be spoken.

Darien stepped into the bar area and ordered a pint of ale. It was not a fancy drink, and it had appalled his father that he enjoyed it so. Darien took a long drink from his glass and set it down, taking a look at his surroundings.

Conn had been sitting in a corner, watching the room, after a reasonably fruitful dice game had won him a few ounces of jimson weed. After smoking it, he knew better than to try his luck again, and now sat blissfully wandering through mental clouds, his head tipped back against the wall. He nursed his second pint of ale and felt himself slowly coming back to himself, fitting his puzzled self into his skin. It had been a few days since he'd split with Lilias and Ronan. You couldn't be too weighed down, not these days, 'specially not with a halfbreed.

At first he thought he'd imagined it. But if there was a face he knew, it was the face behind his misfortunes. Well--partly. The face of the undeserving idiot--Lord Darien Lawley.

Well.

Conn wouldn't have gotten up at all if he hadn't been on the farther side of intoxication. As it was, he uncoiled himself, his pint cupped in one hand, and weaved his way through the room to Lord Lawley's table.

"Robert Morrigan, at your service," he said quietly, lowering himself onto the bench opposite the Lord's. It was the name he took when he was hiring out as a mercenary, and why not? Now that everyone was bloody well enlisting... He used his more cultivated voice, smoothing out his usual rough accent, and waited to see how Lawley would introduce himself. He kept any hint of his loathing for the man off his face, and gave a small, careful smile.

Darien was enjoying the peace and quiet. Granted, the room was crowded with every form of commoner in the area. Darien had been enjoying the fragrance of the ale that he was about to drink when a man who seemed like he was a bit tipsy as it was sat down across from him.

Darien looked at the man over his mug of ale and fought the urge to scowl at the man. So Darien decided to go with the next best thing, kill them with kindness. Darien smiled and set his glass down.

"Have a seat, sir. It is a free country after all. At least until the king changes his mind about it," Darien said witha rhetorical tone, seeing as the man was already seated at the table.

Darien found himself looking at the man with a rather intriguing look. The face seemed familiar, and the name also sounded familiar though he could not quite place it. Darien wondered if he should give a false name, seeing as he was in a public place and since he was near his own fiefdom, chances were that someone would recognize the name and he has made his share of enemies between Lawley and the Keep.

Albert, having finished making preparations for their stay, had come into the pub to check on his master. When he saw that another man had sat at his table, Albert casually made his way to the bar and ordered a beer. Albert's ear turned toward the two sitting at the table so that he may hear all that was said, and act if need be.

Darien never had to see if Albert was lurking around, he just knew he was. Darien did not feel the need to look at the man as he approached the bar. Darien kept his focus on the man across from him.

"Lance Filbur, what can I do for you?" said Darien as he finally took his drink with great satisfaction.

Conn almost snorted with laughter, but only took his seat and propped his feet up on the bench opposite. Then he took a drink. "Ah. Mister Filbur. Funny, I wouldn't have pegged you for a commoner; your clothing is very... well, times aren't exactly hard, are they? Even if the word is we're going to war." Broodingly, Conn swirled the liquid in his cup, watching the patterns it made instead of looking up at his interlocutor. He slid into the part of merc all too easily at a time like this.

It wasn't that Conn was afraid of killing. Or even so much of being killed. What he hated, the thought that drove him crazy--was having to follow orders.

But maybe he could get something else. Heck, work on a fiefdom keeping law and order. Maybe he could see his brother... Brian, who now had three missing fingers and God knew what other tales of suffering accrued over the years.

"Anyway, I was just headed for Lawley fiefdom. I've heard the Lord there might be hiring men to watch the estate. I'm a merc, don't you know." He nodded affably.

Darien grinned. The man definitely had possibly a bit too much, but he kept his guard well enough. Darien took another drink of his ale and placed it on the table.

"A mercenary, you say? I would think that the king would require a man of your services. Surely you would rather be paid better than some low Fief lord could. Or perhaps, you're not as good as you believe yourself to be," said Darien.

"Let's just say that men like me do well in times of war," said Darien as the man commented on his attire. Let the man believe what he wanted. Neither of them were telling the truth, at least, not the entire truth.

"I'm afraid I have not heard of you. Well, actually, I do recall hearing the name before but only in passing. I'm afraid I do not keep track of non-mentionable mercenaries, the details get rather boring at times," said Darien. Frankly, the man was a nuisance, and Darien knew that if at any moment he felt in danger all he had to do was look at Albert at the bar and the situation would be handled.

Albert stood at the bar, drinking from his own cup only occasionally. His left hand went casually to his knife that he kept on his back, waiting to see if his master required his using of it.

"Boring, details are," Conn said, glancing up at the man. "Details like the care of your serfs, or your land. Speaking hypothetical-like here, of course." Anger buzzed in his brain, and the alcohol and datura made hi lose control of his tongue and his temper. But really. What had he come here to talk to Darien about, if not the injustices committed on his land, in his name, by his actions or inactions, attention or inattention?

Laziness, Conn was convinced, was evil. Neglect was evil. At least if you were active, even if what you did was kill, at least then you faced what you were responsible for.

"I 'spect a great Lord like Lord Newbury for example, or say, Lawley, I 'spect they would hardly have the time to see to their estates. Safety and suchlike. I 'spect a merc could come in handy, but who knows, I'm only humble and lowly. Maybe I'll make my way to the border, who knows."

Darien grinned. The man was not an idiot, except for the fact that he let his hand slip a bit. Darien glanced at Albert who had taken the liberty of removing his knife and keeping it close enough for him to quickly throw it at his master's attacker. Darien turned his attention back to the man in front of him.

"I suppose a lord such as Newbury or Lawley could use a good mercenary. I wonder if you know any, seeing as you are one. I would hope your recommendation is better than you, no offense. But tell me, since we are no longer assuming my lie is the truth, why don't you tell me who you really are. I would like to know what name to put on your tombstone," Darien said as he took a drink from his cup.

Albert almost wished he could throw the knife at his master, but his mistress would have his head. Besides, Elena Lawley could possibly be a better ruler than her brother ever could be. The hesitation was hardly noticed as he approached the table and his master's drinking companion's back. Albert was no soldier, honor was not a necessity with a kill. Albert made good time, before the man had time to verbally respond, he was already half-way between the bar and the man.

Conn noticed the gazes passing between Albert and Darien. He wasn't stupid, even if he was drunk, and his self-preservative instincts were well-honed.

"I fear you'll never see my tombstone," he said quietly. He pulled his hands back and carefully slid a throwing-knife into each one, keeping at the ready for any false moves. A fool, was this Lord Lawley! You never advertised your intentions if you really wanted to kill someone. A fool. A young fool. "But I thank ye kindly for the offer. Now, Lord Lawley, I'm gonna get up. And I'm gonna disappear. An' if we meet again, it be in Hell."

He stood up. Albert was now behind him, but a quick, untelegraphed blow to the neck left him wheezing and clutching his throat.

"So you best think on your sins." Conn took one of his daggers--one very like what they'd found in the slain steward all those years ago--and slammed it down into the wood of the table, a warning sign. "Try to remember 'em."