Abrupt slumbers.

[Elfling]

Lucque Aodha had found relief at seeing Quincy standing and well. She was peaked; he knew his sister well enough to know something was wrong. In the end, it hadn't mattered. Lucque had been introduced to Altias Bromn and had promptly fallen asleep where he sat.

As it always was within the Broken Dagger, people came and people went. Conversations buzzed for some time, then a lulled period quieted the tavern for a while, only to have it bustling once more, always at odd times and never predictable. It was during one of those lulls that a green-and-blond haired elf crouched next to the chair where the man slumbered.

He was a youthful human by any standards. His hands held callouses associated with the knowledge of the sword, yet his clothing was stitched impeccably, as were any clothes for a man of his station. He would be a Known Man, eventually.. if anyone ever got off of their arses to fix the situation they all talked about.

That was neither here nor there for a youthful elf, however. Solena stared at the dark-curled man and remembered when he had been used to drive Quincy batty. That had been the beginning of everything, of course. Their splintering had come due to an elfling's perceived slight and her revenge. Quincy had never learned the lesson; she had still taken something most precious to the elf. She had killed that thing, but this youthful boy still remained, breathing with the deep, nasal sounds of an exhausted sleep.

Solena watched him for a long while. Finally, a dulled object of brass was between gloved fingers. "'ey now," the elfling uttered loud enough to startle the sleeping nobleman.

Lucque started and sat up, then stared blearily down at the crouching elf. "What?" he mumbled. Couldn't she see he was trying to sleep?

The key was offered up with a wan smile. He might not even take it, but she owed him. He didn't know she owed him, but she didn't need him to know. "'ere. Jes' take i'. Quince would be rather upse' if somethin' 'appened tae ye down 'ere."

'Quince', the elf had uttered. Quincy, obviously. He smiled. "Friend of hers, hm? Alright." His hand reached out and plucked the key from violet-clad fingers, and he rose from the chair, stretched big, then began the half-slumbering gait to the stairwell and the rooms beyond.

Only once he was out of sight did the elf smile faintly to herself. "Aye. Friends." She, too, began to move, but her trek carried her outside and to the stables to see if the dark-haired man had brought a 'friend' of his own. Solena liked horses a great deal as long as she didn't have to ride one.

[Elfling]

It was midday before Lucque managed to rouse himself up and out of bed. In his worry, he had left his saddlebags in the stables with Bartholomew and the stablehands, and therefore, his fresh change of clothes, his money, and any number of little trinkets he might have picked up to entertain his wayward sister.

However, as the sun peeked through curtains slightly opened, none of that was on his mind. The fact that there was a ray of sunshine invading the peace of his bedcovers was a far more pressing problem.

"Ngh."

Lucque rolled over and tugged the blankets over his head. He never had been one for closed spaces; he very often felt as trapped as he did when surrounded by some of his 'best advisors'. Therefore, it didn't take long for the covers to be thrown back off and a gulp of fresh air pulled into lungs.

He didn't remember pulling off most of his clothing, but he hadn't exactly been fully awake. The thought of putting on the dusty clothing wasn't anything he was all that inclined to entertain though, even if it was only long enough to retrieve his belongings from the stable. With a groan, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and promptly pulled himself out of the devouring comfort.

While long fingers raked through wayward, black curls ( and tugged at a knot here and there ), he strode across the room towards the closed wardrobe. A hand pulled open one of the doors; he had hoped to find a forgotten set of pants, or perhaps a new shirt. What he found both astonished and disturbed him.

There were a rainbow of colors to choose from. Pants were neatly folded upon the little shelves made for such. Shirts of every color hung from the pole within and matched the coloring to the pants in such detail as to suggest each ensemble had been dyed from the very same tub. There were boots, some a dull black, some glossed, some colored. In all of his finery, he'd never worn colored boots.

There was even undergarments typical to what he wore. That knowledge alone was enough to make the young man blush and step back from the wardrobe in sudden, wary shock.

Lucque was one groomed to retake a Kingdom, even if it was a small, somewhat forgotten one. He was quick with a sword, but it hardly made him unintelligent.

"Someone planned this," he told the empty room, though his eyes immediately darted around as if to find the little sprite who might have caused it. As the grogginess of sleep was shocked away by a sudden, fearful mind, he remembered such a 'sprite'.

The elf.

But he hadn't told anyone he was coming, and no one had beckoned him here through any means. He had simply overheard a couple of his staff in the kitchen talking about the newest tragedy to befall Myrken. While it was possible that he had been manipulated into arriving here by a potential assassin, he doubted they would make him travel all the way to Myrken for it. It wasn't exactly a short journey.

The man scowled in frustration. All the same, he proceeded to don a pair of the blackest pants within the wardrobe ( and promptly found himself disturbed at how well they fit ), as well as a bright red shirt. A brush was discovered and run through his hair, which was eventually pulled back meticulously to tame the wild mass as much as possible. The plainest black boots in the closet fit as well as everything else.

Once he was ready, Lucque descended into the tavern proper, then departed fully for the town of Myrken. A wardrobe of that size would have taken time to craft, and he had little doubt that a tailor within the town would have found a very fat purse for the job. Perhaps for another such purse, they'd be willing to confide who had ordered the clothing in the first place.