His witty repartee, or what he has deemed so, does not win from his wife either a seductive smile or a fluttering gasp of shock. She will not humor him at all, it seems, will join him in no suggestive praise of how devoutly they serve their vows, and her brother contributes no approving guffaw of laughter, either. He must suffer, then, a short spell of silence as he gathers his reins and applies himself once more to the work of finding his horse to be as worthy as his wife's, as the king's. That will not be enough, of course: she will see that he stands in the king's stables, that he must behold the splendor of horses far superior to any that have paced a Westerosi shore.
There will be little enough opportunity there for japes against the horses she has, from the start, touted as flawless emblems of the equine craft, and he is coming to doubt that her brother would indulge a great many lighthearted insults against the treasures housed in his barns. He contents himself, then, to lift his brows as if he is as of yet unconvinced of the wonder she has long spoken of regarding the horses that prance upon the Rohirric plains, holding his stallion close beside her own mount. He will, he supposes, profess his admiration for the royal steeds so proudly kept, and he will profess his appreciation for the nobility of her home when it is presented to him. This is a kindness easier vowed in silence than enacted aloud, when he is thinking loftily of the peace he might bring his wife, when it is, for the nonce, not in chipper competition against the delicious prospect of provoking her to dramatics.
She asks her brother of Shadowfax, a horse she has spoken of before, and he turns his head to allow his assessing gaze to roam just as freely as that supposed steed. Over that rich sea of green which swells with hills, which had bred for centuries, he is meant to believe, a variety of men whose honor and valor are paralleled nowhere else. He spies no mythical silver stallion, and he holds still to his condescension that all he has been told of this place has been steeped generously in fable and legend.
He eyes the king as he rides alongside them, as they begin toward his wife's first home. It cannot be prouder than the Rock; it cannot be bedecked in the same gold, in the same fearsome history, reigning over cliffs as terrible and beautiful and sheer. The horses of this place have only been eloquently embellished, and he has not woefully incapacitated himself by shirking his honorable duty of learning his wife's language. He holds himself tall where he sits, lifting an unbothered shoulder as if it does not matter to him one way or the other whether this king speaks a language he does not know.
"I'm sure we both find Westron to be the more efficient and sensible of the two, brother Elmer, but if you would rather hill and hall rang with the sounds of your own tongue, I trust that you will find my handling of it to be most promising." Why should he admit to being so thoroughly disarmed of a functioning knowledge of the language here? It cannot, he thinks, be so complex that he is unable to pick up the most rudimentary stones of it, to cobble together a rendition that would deal his wife no great embarrassment.
"Perhaps we shall see which language the horses prefer. Maybe your noble Shadowfax has only been waiting to be called properly."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sforzinda
no subject
Date: 2021-09-25 06:35 pm (UTC)There will be little enough opportunity there for japes against the horses she has, from the start, touted as flawless emblems of the equine craft, and he is coming to doubt that her brother would indulge a great many lighthearted insults against the treasures housed in his barns. He contents himself, then, to lift his brows as if he is as of yet unconvinced of the wonder she has long spoken of regarding the horses that prance upon the Rohirric plains, holding his stallion close beside her own mount. He will, he supposes, profess his admiration for the royal steeds so proudly kept, and he will profess his appreciation for the nobility of her home when it is presented to him. This is a kindness easier vowed in silence than enacted aloud, when he is thinking loftily of the peace he might bring his wife, when it is, for the nonce, not in chipper competition against the delicious prospect of provoking her to dramatics.
She asks her brother of Shadowfax, a horse she has spoken of before, and he turns his head to allow his assessing gaze to roam just as freely as that supposed steed. Over that rich sea of green which swells with hills, which had bred for centuries, he is meant to believe, a variety of men whose honor and valor are paralleled nowhere else. He spies no mythical silver stallion, and he holds still to his condescension that all he has been told of this place has been steeped generously in fable and legend.
He eyes the king as he rides alongside them, as they begin toward his wife's first home. It cannot be prouder than the Rock; it cannot be bedecked in the same gold, in the same fearsome history, reigning over cliffs as terrible and beautiful and sheer. The horses of this place have only been eloquently embellished, and he has not woefully incapacitated himself by shirking his honorable duty of learning his wife's language. He holds himself tall where he sits, lifting an unbothered shoulder as if it does not matter to him one way or the other whether this king speaks a language he does not know.
"I'm sure we both find Westron to be the more efficient and sensible of the two, brother Elmer, but if you would rather hill and hall rang with the sounds of your own tongue, I trust that you will find my handling of it to be most promising." Why should he admit to being so thoroughly disarmed of a functioning knowledge of the language here? It cannot, he thinks, be so complex that he is unable to pick up the most rudimentary stones of it, to cobble together a rendition that would deal his wife no great embarrassment.
"Perhaps we shall see which language the horses prefer. Maybe your noble Shadowfax has only been waiting to be called properly."