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Francis (Faramir) Fletcher (
2016-11-01 05:25 pm (UTC)
If Waver's travel had left him tired, it was doubtless nothing to the new arrival's. When Francis ducked into the inn, he was a mess, drenched in mud and dripping rainwater, shivering from the cold and with a large bruise starting to form under the grime on his face.
He stopped in the doorway, still shivering, to scrape the worst of the mud off his boots and pull off his cloak. It wouldn't do to start his visit by making more work than necessary for whoever cleaned up this tavern when the night was over. Once he was satisfied that he'd done what he could, he picked up the heavy-looking bags he carried, and, limping a little, headed for the bar, exchanging a few words with the landlord. A few coins changed hands, and the landlord beckoned him through a back door, to the rooms upstairs.
Around ten minutes later, Francis came over to where Waver was sitting, carrying a cup of wine and a plate of stew. He'd cleaned his face and hands a little, but not changed his clothes, and he was still shivering.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice clipped and polite, "but would you mind my coming to sit here? It's close to the fire, and I'm afraid I..." He broke off, sneezing explosively. "...I could use the warmth."
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