The Seven-Stringed Harp was not a place Cerys had ever expected to find herself, and had her parents known she was there, they might well have disowned her. Of course, their warning had nothing to do with alcohol, and little to do with men, and mostly seemed to have revolved around Finnan Greenbottle - Lavinia Greenbottle's husband. He worked the bar, and neither Igor nor Ann wanted to put a single copper piece in the halfling man's palm. Technically, the two gold coins in her hand belonged to Diero, so she felt less awkward about the whole ordeal. However, she wasn't sure her parents would see the difference, and furthermore, they were likely to ask why she had been with Diero Astorio all night to begin with.

She was not surprised to see Finnan's confusion as he looked up to the tinkle of the bell above the door, only to see none other than Cerys Jones stepping out of the cold light of dawn, and into the warm glow of the rougher of Secomber's two taverns, at only Oghma knows what hour. His mousy curls wobbled as he cocked his head to the side, unsure of whether she had come to drink, or to start an argument. Cerys shook her head, and he sighed in relief before raising one brow. She returned the look, before turning her head to Paelias. She looked the elf up and down from behind and grimaced.

The tavern was surprisingly noisy for such an hour. By no means was that to say it was full. On the contrary, the only remaining patrons looked as though they may well have fused to their benches, and were in fact unable to leave. However, this half a dozen men required no assistance in making the same amount noise a group three or four times their size might have.

Meandering her way past mismatched chairs strewn across the exposed wooden flooring - and stepping over a dwarven man curled up and fast asleep - Cerys approached the bar, and Finnan regarded her with some apprehension.

"Miss Jones, if this is about the noise, I'll tell you what I told Mr Astorio the last time he came knocking… I can't turn the damn harp off," he said.

"I'm not here about the harp," she said, casting a glance to the enchanted instrument. Finnan was not wrong. The harp was the product of a spell cast by a powerful wizard, and it never ceased playing. She had to wonder if it could create its own music, or whether it was following some sort of pattern, and whether - if enough time were spent in the tavern - one would notice these patterns and suffer for the repetitiveness. Turning her attention back to Finnan, her eyes narrowed. "Why would you think I had come about the harp?"

"Well, you're always just spending a lot of time with Mr Astorio, as of late," he said.

"No, I'm not," Cerys said rather defensively. A rumour like that would get her into a lot of trouble with her parents, who seemed to not approve of Diero Astorio in the slightest.

"Oh… My bad. I thought I'd seen you two together a fair bit recently," he said, but Cerys said nothing in response, and the two fell into an uneasy silence until he broke it by speaking once more. "I feel like you're here for a reason?"

"Yes," Cerys said, and stepped to the side to give Finnan Greenbottle a clear view of Paelias Meliamne. "What does Mr Meliamne drink?" she asked.

Finnan looked at her with uncertainty. Cerys know she'd likely have been giving herself the same look were she in in shoes. Still, she did not move, nor did she change her focused expression, and eventually Finnan shrugged.

"Well, Miss Jones," he said and took a deep breath before sighing. "If I'm entirely honest, it'd be quicker for me to give you a list of anything he wouldn't drink."

"Go on," she said.

With a cheeky grin, Finnan pulled out three bottles from under the counter. Each were beautiful in their own right, with carefully calligraphed labels. "He won't drink anything over five silver a bottle," he said.

"Is that personal taste, or-" Cerys stopped her question, when Finnan Greenbottle rolled his eyes. "Right," she said. She placed her two gold on the counter, and slid it across to him. He raised one eyebrow, but said nothing as he uncorked one of the bottles. Filled with a dark liquid, Cerys could not tell if was brown or red in the dim lighting of the tavern. It was tall, with a diamond-shaped pattern embossed across the neck. She peered at the label, however she was not yet good enough at reading to decipher the calligraphy with its swirling tails and unnecessary embellishment.

"Right you are then, Miss Jones," he said. He reached under the bar and produced two mugs, before looking to Paelias Meliamne. "I… hope you know what you're doing," he added.

Cerys nodded appreciatively, and reached to take the bottle from him. He seemed hesitant to let it go, but after a moment of moving his rather intense stare between Cerys and Paelias, he conceded and allowed her to take it from him.

She took the two mugs in one hand, holding the bottle in her other, and manoeuvred her way back around the chairs and the dwarf, continuing across the tavern until she stood behind Paelias Meliamne. The two men sat opposite the elf fell silent as they looked up at her in confusion.

"Jones?" one of them asked.

Paelias froze. "Listen, Igor, if it's about that fence, I can assure you it had nothing to do with me," he said, placing his hands in the air.

"Not Igor, no," Cerys said, and Paelias spun around, swinging his legs over the bench, to stare up at her in bewilderment.

"M-Miss Jones! What are you doing here?" he asked. "Look, can you tell your father, I just-"

"We can talk about that in a moment. First and foremost, I have something else to discuss with you. I'm sure your friends won't mind leaving us two for a while," she said, and cast each of the men opposite Paelias a pointed stare. They offered nervous looks to the back of Paelias' head before rising to their feet and taking their drinks to another table.

Cerys paced around the table and took the seat opposite the elf. She said nothing as she poured the wine. The dark liquid sloshed into the mugs with a distinct lack of finesse that gave her inexperience away, something Paelias noticed, even in his drunken state. Admittedly, however, he seemed to have sobered up a little at the sight of a Jones.

Up this close, Cerys thought he looked somewhat like a brass statue, particularly with how rigid he was sat. His dusky bronze skin, blonde hair, and gold eyes all blurred into one in the orange glow of the tavern.

"So," he said, gulping. Cerys had to wonder what kind of interactions he'd had with her father to have left him so nervous, or if it was even the same Igor Jones they each knew.

Cerys lifted her satchel, dropping it on the table. He flinched and leaned away. Lifting the flap, Cerys exposed the mess of papers contained within it, and at the sight of nothing overtly sinister, the tension in Paelias' shoulders slackened a little.

"I have with me some texts," she said. His eyes narrowed. "Some are written in Aragrakh - which you might know as-"

"I know what Aragrakh is," Paelias said in a sigh.

"Right. Well, other passages are written in Netherese," she said.

Paelias stared at the table, though his hand reached for one of the mugs of wine. Cerys pushed it towards him, and he took it by the handle, bringing it up to his mouth, though he did not drink from it.

"I'm sorry… what? Could you repeat that?"

"Aragrakh and Netherese," she said.

"Netherese?" he asked. Cerys drew breath to repeat herself, yet again, but he spoke before she could. "Why in the world would anyone write anything in Netherese, these days? That language is as dead as the Netherese themselves." Taking a sip from the cup, he continued to stare down at the table. "Where did you say you found these texts?"

"In a book."

"One book."

"Yes, one book. Why are you interested in how many books there were?"

"I just… I'm struggling to understand why those two languages. What do they have to do with each other?"

"Well, that's what I'd like to know, and I've heard you're the man to talk to about such things," she said.

Paelias scoffed. "Who'd you hear that from? Ciara?"

"Who?"

"No? Then… oh. Of course. Diero Astorio," he said with such contempt Cerys was certain Diero would be able to feel the sting wherever he currently was. "Well, I'm sorry. I can't help you, Miss Jones. Tell Diero I said go burn in the nine hells, won't you?"

"I'm sensing an ever so slightly bitter twinge of animosity towards Mr Astorio, Mr Meliamne."

"Mr Meliamne," he scoffed. "Flattery won't buy you anything here, Miss Jones. I don't know how you and Mr Astorio like to do things, but round here, it takes more than wine and manners." With that, he downed the rest of his mug, and poured himself another.

Cerys drew a deep breath in. She shifted her gaze from him to the papers, and then back to him. Closing her eyes she pulled the other mug towards her, and took a sip of her own wine.

"Fair enough," she said, though she did not think it was fair at all. She'd just spent - well… Diero had just spent two gold on this.

"So, unless you've got something more to barter with, get out of here and leave me to drink in peace. Those days are far behind me, and I don't much fancy looking back."

"Then why don't you start by telling me about your business with my father. What happened with the fence?" she asked. "Who knows, maybe I can have a word with my father and maybe you won't have to deal with him. Alternatively, I could go home and tell him how rude you were to me. I'm sure he would love that."

"You're not supposed to make the offer before you make the threat."

"What?"

"You made me an offer, and then you threatened me," he said. "You're supposed to say something like… Well, I guess I'll be off home then to tell my father what a rude bastard you are. Or, you could give me a hand, and I can go home and tell him I met a handsome, dashing, wonderful elf at the tavern last night."

Cerys stared at him. "I'm not going to say any of that. So why don't we just start with the problem" she said.

Paelias rolled his eyes. "Look, before you say anything. It's not my fault."

"A compelling start."

"How was I supposed to know the feed was bad?"

"What feed?"

"You know… your weird pig - his feed."

"I'm sorry… what? Just… go back to the beginning."

Sighing, Paelias glowered at Cerys. "Your pig. The dead pig. Your old man thinks I organised with the fence to get him bad feed - poisoned feed - as a favour to Greenbottle over there."

"Wait…" Cerys raised her hand to silence him, her features screwing up. "What's that got to do with a fence?"

"What?"

"I feel like we're talking about two different things here, Mr Meliamne."

"What do you think I'm talking about?"

"Well, that's just it, Mr Meliamne. I'm not entirely sure what a fence has to do with any feed - poisoned or otherwise."

"Well he sold it to your father, didn't he?"

Cerys' heart skipped a beat, cold blood rushed through her veins, freezing her in place. Her gaze lingered on Paelias, but she could not see him, for all she could see was red. The papers quivered as she retrieved them from her bag with trembling hands, laying them out in front of him.

"I will make your problem go away. You are going to translate these," she said, struggling to keep her voice quiet and calm.

Paelias glanced down at them, before looking back to Cerys, following her with his eyes as she pushed herself to her feet, her fists balled against the table. Once she had straightened her back, she took the bag from the table, gripping it so tight, her knuckles blanched.

The elf said nothing in response, his features drawn. Cerys slung the bag over her shoulder and shot him one last cold look before leaving.