#tancelmo

“Tancelmo took me out to a proper tavern once and ordered the wine like it was a battle of wits with the keeper. Vintage this, region that, sniffed the cup, made a face, sent it back. I’m sat there having drunk worse out of a skin on a frozen ridge and been grateful to for it. So… I drank the rejected one. The one not good enough for him. It was lovely. Best wine I’d ever had, easily. He looked at me like I’d kicked a dog. I’ve never seen a man so wounded by another man simply enjoying something. I did it again the next round just to watch.”

“Tancelmo says I’ll drink myself into an early grave. Rich, that, coming from a man whose hands shake so bad he can’t hold the cup that’s ruining him… we make quite the pair, the two of us, propping up each other’s vices and calling it friendship. But he’s right, the old wreck, and I told him so, and he looked appalled that I’d agreed, because half the fun for him is the argument. So now I’ve ruined his evening by being reasonable. There’s no winning with elves. You concede the point and somehow you’ve still lost.”