Amrothos: My liege? When are we going to crush the pewling Rohirrim once and for all?
Denethor: after you tell me what pewling means
Amrothos: Er. A sort of whining, I think. Whimpering like dogs.
Amrothos: No, it's pewling. Mewling is like cats. *thinks* or perhaps it's 'puling'.
Denethor: Don't you do anything *useful* with your time?
Amrothos: I endeavor to be a learned gentleman as to do credit to my service to you.
Denethor: be useful instead.
Amrothos: *accepts the rebuke with a faint quivering of his lip* What do you wish of me, then?
Denethor: I'm sure one of my sons could do with a helper. Or your sister. *half smile and resumes trying to work*
Amrothos: *earnestly* But your service is the nobler, sir. If I do not please you, tell me how I must change.
Denethor: my service has no need of you right this moment, boy.
Amrothos: *face crumples briefly* ...yes sir.
Denethor: *works* *looks up* You're still here?
Amrothos: You didn't dismiss me, sir.
Amrothos: *bows and scurries out*