Fields and Forests (Falling into the Night)

Where now are the horse and rider? In here, probably.
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FIELDS & FORESTS OF ROHAN

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~ who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows ~

THIS THREAD MAY NOT BE FOR THE FAINT OF HEART, FOR AMIDST
THE TALES WOVEN LIE THEMES OF PERIL, GREED & MURDER

The seasons have wheeled, and the warm days of summer are now but fleeting memories. Drovers, shepherds and fisher-folk have struck their camps. There are crops to gather, and homes and storehouses to repair and weatherproof before Mettarë can be celebrated.

The days will be shorter now, and the lands and roads less easily travelled. Where will your trusty steed take you? Who might you meet on your travels?




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Last edited by Aodh Hammerhelm on Sat Sep 26, 2020 6:37 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Amadhrill wrote: Wed Sep 23, 2020 7:15 pm Amadhrill's family homestead, the Eastfold

The hælend watched the old wigend from the corner of her green eyes as they finished washing the dishes. It seemed a change had come over him, his smile broader now, his voice lighter in a way.

«Well then, any help is very much welcome! And the holbytla can rest and gather his strenght.» She hung the kitchen towel back in it's place, found a small blanket and gently placed it over the hobbit. Again, very softly, she felt the forehead for any signs of fever. The skin felt as it should, neither hot nor cold, not too dry or moist. Pleased with her patient she led the way out of the small cabin and into one of the smaller outhouses.

She found herself a dirty pinafore and tied over her dress. «I'm afraid I don't have anything to protect your clothes from the dirt, but here we have what we need to join the others.»

She took a fork from a hook on the wall and led the way out into the early autumn sunshine. They joined with the others outside, the children playing games of finding the biggest or the most potatoes while the hælend's father and brother dug and turned the earth to expose the potatoes. She put the fork firmly into the ground a little way from the potato plant, aiming for the perfect distance, not to close to risk ruining the potatoes, yet not so far as to give herself plenty of extra work «Now, Ælfred, will you tell me a little of yourself while we work or do you prefer silence?»
Taethowen wrote: Thu Sep 24, 2020 5:38 pm

Taethowen (Private)
Edoras to Aldburg, along the Great West Road


Despite the bright, summer sun, the quiet rustle of the wind through tall, green grass--renewed by the rains that had followed the fires and the birds flitting through the air, chirping merrily whenever they discovered a seedhead on a stalk--Taeth couldn't shake the coldness that seemed to sink into her very bones.

Taeth had hoped not to make this journey alone. And she hadn't planned to make the journey at all with the weight of grief pressing into her soul with overbearing force.

This must be a dream, she thought numbly. All of it. They can't be gone. It must be some mistake.

She took a deep breath, wincing at the soreness of her throat. She honestly couldn't remember if she'd packed anything that might help soothe it. Plantain, she thought. I should watch for plantain to add the leaves to my water skin.

Taeth tried to focus on the horse beneath her. Gefyrst. This was the first chance she'd had to put the mare through her paces. The ride back to Edoras from the cavalry exercise where she'd reacquired the mare had not been suitable with the crowd of soldiers to really testing the horse's capabilities.

Today, with a proper saddle and the open road before them, she could do so. But it was hard to keep her mind focused on the present when her heart kept trying to pull her to the past. If it wasn't Frost, it was her mother and siblings. If it wasn't them, it was her father. How have I reached a point where I have no one? she thought, and silently urged Gefyrst into a gallop, letting the wind whip away her tears.

She'd left later in the day than she'd originally hoped. But she'd barely slept the night before, only managing to fall into a somewhat restful oblivion a few hours before dawn. There was no way she could make it all the way to the Aldburg in one shot now. If she'd still had Fyrgold--the mare she'd lost in Gondor all those years ago--she would have pushed harder than she dared now. But even then it would have been impossible to reach the fortress before dark.

Her quiet, desperate grief was not worth laming a mare as valuable as Gefryst. So Taeth paced herself, and Gefryst, and eventually found some solace in the solid thud, thud, thud of the mare's hooves against the road.

At least until nightfall.

Taeth was grateful for the drone of summer insects. They were enough of a cacaphony to drown out even her most pervasive, aching thoughts. But sadly, she discovered, they were not enough to stop the images which superimposed themselves in her mind every time she closed her eyes.

Of her family, trapped in the flames. And her knowledge of flames and their destruction was all too fresh in her mind after the Edoras fires. She yanked herself back to wakefulness, heart pounding desperately in her chest, every time she began to drift off into nightmares.

Taeth wasn't really sure if she slept at all that night or not, really. It was safer to stare at the sky and watch the stars pass by overhead.

It felt like an eternity before the eastern sky lightened.

She hurried through breakfast, and putting out the remaining coals from the fire she'd cooked dinner over the night before, before re-saddling Gefyrst as soon as it was light enough to travel.

Taeth once again found some measure of solace in Gefyrst's hoofbeats. In feeling the mare respond to her nudging and guidance. She would never be a proper Cavalry horse. She was too old to be trained for battle and Taeth wanted to get as many breeding years out of Gefyrst as she could if she could find a suitable stud, but until she could find a properly trained mount, Gefyrst would suffice.

It was still a few hours till dusk when they reached the Aldburg, and Taeth was grateful that all she'd needed to do was show her Marshal insignia to gain a room in the barracks for the night, and a stall in the stable for Gefyrst. She wasn't sure she was quite ready to stay at a proper inn yet, not after hearing how her family had passed.

Some of the commanders at the fortress had shown interest in her presence, wanting to take her around the keep and treat her to a meal, but fortunately they'd been respectful when Taeth explained that she was on personal leave and that she was in mourning.

She slept a little more that night, but only because the quiet chatter of a fortress that never quiet really slept helped her feel a little less alone.
Eléowyn wrote: Tue Sep 22, 2020 4:29 am The Dughlaich Homestead, Vale of Anduin

“I love thee as well,” Eléo replied when Aodh had at last spent his tears. She took the gunna from him, placed one hand on his cheek, kissed him, then strode toward the orchard and garden, whistling for Wulf to join her.

The trees were filled with a bounty of fruit, far more than she could ever gather to take with them. It felt wasteful, to leave so much behind; the apples would winter well in a cold cellar or could have been made into apple butter or cider. With no one tending them, the fruit would fall to the ground and rot there, if not found by the field mice or squirrels. She gathered enough for their journey homeward, with perhaps enough more for a cake or two, then ruefully moved to the garden.

There she found little that remained; most had been put into the stew Aodh had made for their earlier meal. There were a few summer squash, a handful of runner beans, as well as a smattering of pea pods that looked promising. All else lay rotting on the ground or had been sampled by the wildlife. From those remains, she was able to gather some seeds as Aodh had requested.

The herb and flower gardens were in better shape. Rosemary, parsley, thyme, sage, mint, among others, had flourished, and Eléo took out her knife and made copious cuttings of each in turn. The flower garden yielded marigold, violets, daisies, columbine, and cowslips, and more. There Eléo took only the dried heads from which she could extract the seeds.

As she worked, she reflected on all that had happened. She had been on the brink of losing Aodh, perhaps her own life as well. Together, they had been stronger than the evil they faced. Now they could, at last, journey homeward without fear, and live their lives in peace.

In peace … Eléo, who had been bent over making her cuttings, straightened her back at the thought. What would they do? After a lifetime of what must have seemed an unending quest, would Aodh be content to sit home? Would they be reduced to bickering over who left the jam out, or prattling on about who said what in the pub? She almost chuckled at the thought. No, she decided, they would find a new purpose in good time. Until then, for her part, she would be glad of well-earned peace.

She realized the gunna was filled, and she was eager to be on the road. With Wulf at her heels, she headed for the path’s edge where Aodh would meet her. She arrived just in time to see him emerge from the fields, with a line of horses following him. At his back, an angry orange light blazed. Eléo understood immediately what Aodh had been doing. Thus, in fire, a chapter in their life was ended.

She smiled in return, lifted her own hand, and waited for her husband.
Aodh Hammerhelm wrote: Wed Sep 23, 2020 10:36 pm The Wold, west of Anduin :

The failing daylight slowed their way along the winding cliff path, but the Vale of the Great River lay at last behind the Hammerhelms. Aodh let Eléowyn lead their way, for he had come to Nadene’s croft along the river valley from Gondor, and was not familiar with the hill country they now found themselves in.

They travelled on into the night, in silence and with steady resolve, their way lit by a sliver of yellow moon. They made camp after several hours, but set no fire for the night was warm, even at altitude, and they were both too weary to gather wood or contemplate the making of a meal.

While Eléo prepared their bed Aodh tethered their horses. Gazing out over the bald, rolling hills he wondered where in the wide world Ringbold, Ælfred and Goldwhæt now lay their heads. His wife was already under blanket when he was done. He undressed and slipped in alongside her, kissing her shoulder as he closed his eyes.

The ground beneath him was hard and stony, but he was warm, alive and back where he belonged - with Eléowyn, his wife. Tomorrow night they might find themselves in a comfortable bed, with a roof overhead and a fire in the hearth, but where that would be was not certain. Tonight they would lie under starlight and wake together as the sun rose.

Aodh snuggled in closer to Eléo and lay his head upon her shoulder. Thankee-sai, Nadene, I shall never forget you, he whispered, as sleep took him.

--

The Eastfold: @Amadhrill's family homestead: : NPC: Ælfred the One-Eyed & Ringbold Took

The old wigend watched Ama cover Ringbold and smiled, as much at her tenderness as the peaceful look on his little friend’s face. He closed the cabin door behind him and followed the hæland into an outbuilding.

“Cry not your pardon. m’lady,” he said to Ama, taking up a long handled fork. “My clothes have travelled long roads, and need no protection.”

He smiled again as they reached the field. The entire family was at work with the harvest - even the children, and their laughter filled the evening air.

It had been many years since he had broken earth, save for the preparation of graves, and he watched Ama intently as she set her fork to work. He drew a breath and sunk the tines of his fork carefully into the earth beside a plant.

It was like riding a horse, he found, once done never forgotten, and he settled into a steady rhythm, humming to himself, as he brought the potatoes up from their hiding places.

“I prefer talk to silence,” he said, leaning on his fork as he looked over at Ama. “Though often it is hard to come by – talk I mean, not silence.

Aye, m’lady I would tell you of myself – but what would you hear tell? It is long and long since I've had the pleasure of a new companion… Be warned! My tongue might run on and on and prove more wearisome than the digging of aardappels.”

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Taethowen (Private)
Aldburg to Anorien, via the Great West Road

Taethowen rode away from the Aldburg the next morning as soon as it was light enough to do so. The mess hall in the barracks served food well before dawn, and so she'd managed a quick breakfast, making sure to leave a little coin to cover her costs since she wasn't actually there on Cavalry business.

Though there were still plenty of warm days ahead, the nights and early mornings were starting to have a chill to the air heralding the imminent onset of autumn. Gefyrst seemed to thrive in the coolness, though, eagerly stamping her hooves and pulling at the bit in her mouth as she snorted. Even in her melancholy, Taeth couldn't help but chuckle, and gave the mare her head.

Taeth was relieved when the day passed quickly as she paced Gefyrst and let the scenery slide by around them. Her heart felt numb and her mind was weary, so it was easy to keep focused on one thing rather than her thoughts flittering about of their own volition. It had been a very long time since she rode a horse this intensely, as well, and the ache of being saddle sore was also a welcome distraction.

It was only mid-afternoon when they passed the village of SwiÞheorte. Taeth had been unsure if she would stop there or a little further down the road, but Gefyrst seemed eager to press on, so on they went. In the distance, on the southern side of the road closer to the mountains, Taeth could just glimpse the buildings that made up the SwiÞám Range estate. She couldn't recall, though, if she'd ever met the family there. It was just distant enough from her own estate that it was possible, but not likely.

The sun was still well above the horizon when she saw the next village, SwiÞhanda, on the horizon. "Whoa, girl," she spoke softly to Gefyrst, who seemed annoyed at the sudden decrease in speed. Even if there was still another hour or two of sufficient daylight for traveling left, it would be best to stop here. As far as she could recall, there were no more towns or villages between here and the border into Anorien.

"You've done well, Gefyrst," Taeth leaned over to whisper to the mare, patting her neck affectionately. "We've tomorrow and more still head, too, so let's rest for the night."

When they reached the road leading into the village, Taeth dismounted and led Gefyrst in on foot. The people seemed friendly enough, any who caught her eye smiled or nodded politely, and when the location of the inn wasn't obvious right away, it was simple enough to have someone point her in the right direction.

Once there, Taeth was relieved to see that it was a small, humble place. Not like she'd heard the Cornerstone Inn was... No, Taeth, she wrested her thoughts away from that subject. Don't go there.

After hitching Gefyrst to the post outside, Taeth stepped into the inn. The main room was not large, and the place was not busy. This wasn't exactly the time of year for travelers to be hurrying back and forth--that was more at the peak of summer--and the only reason she might not be able to get a private room was if the inn simply didn't have any, rather than them being full up.

To her relief, they did have a private room, and it was available. She ordered a bath to be drawn up as well, ordered a private dinner, and paid for a stall in the stable, and went to tend to Gefyrst.

The first two nights she'd fumbled as she removed Gefyrst's tack and groomed the mare. It had been so long since she'd been responsible for the daily care of a horse that she'd apparently begun to forget steps, especially as she'd had the mare boarded in Edoras while she was settling into her Marshal duties. But now, the habits and muscle memory were beginning to return, and she fell into an easy rhythm as she unsaddled and combed and cleaned the mare.

The sun was dipping below the horizon when she left the stable, Gefyrst secured and fed, and returned to the inn with her bags. The innkeeper led her first to her room, where she left her things behind and retrieved her comb and a fresh gown for after washing, and then was led to the bathing room.

"Please take your time," the innkeeper stated. "No one else has requested a bath this evening, so there's no rush."

"Thank you," Taeth nodded, eagerly eyeing the long wooden tub with steam wafting off the water's surface. "Would it be possible to have my food left in my room? And... does the cook have any sort of tea that's good for helping one sleep?"

"Of course, the food will be waiting for you there," the innkeeper answered, "and I'll speak with the cook about the tea."

"Thank you," Taeth said again, and then she was left alone, locking the door behind the innkeeper.

The room was fairly small, lit by two lamps mounted on the walls with mirrors behind them to spread the light, the tub taking up most of the floor space. There was still room for a small table and a bench near the door, though, and a folded towel sat on top of the table.

Left alone with her own thoughts once more, but this time without distractions except for caring for her own self, Taeth found her hands trembling as she fought to maintain control of her thoughts. She sat, wincing at the ache in her legs and hips that was dull compared to the ache in her heart, slipped off her boots and stockings, and found herself assaulted with the memory of him doing the same. She bit her lip, and shoved the items aside as she stood. She forced her mind to blankness as she stripped off the rest of her garments and--with probably more force then necessary--unbraided her hair and ran the comb through her wind-tangled locks.

She managed to keep her mind blank and the tears at bay until she stepped into the tub. The heat of the water against her sore muscles too vividly echoed the burning grief that she kept trying to push back. For several long moments, she sat in the water, clenched fist to her mouth as she but her knuckles to muffle her sobs.

Taeth hated grief. She remembered enough of it from when her father died to know that she simply had to let the feelings do their thing and then pass on, but she hated being in the moment of it. So much.

Equally as heavy on her as the grief was the guilt. Guilt for missing her lover when her family was dead. Guilt for not returning to the Mark sooner, and perhaps they may not have been dead at all. Guilt for not visiting them more when she had been here, for not having any memories of her brother and sister as the near-adults they must have been when they passed, and only possessing a smattering of memories from when they were young, still but children.

Guilt for letting her stepfather drive a wedge between her and her mother to the point they barely wrote each other, let alone talked.

Eventually, though, her anguish settled enough that she could drop her hand from her mouth. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against them for a few minutes, letting the steam from the bath soothe her aching head. Then she took a deep breath, and leaned back to let herself sink under the water, until only warmth surrounded her, and only her hearbeat echoed in her ears.

She stayed there until her lungs burned for air.

~~~

Despite the tea the cook had found, and Taeth could smell the herbs in it that were definitely for sleeping and definitely not to aid the flavor of it, her night was fitful and restless. Dawn came both too soon and not quickly enough, and she begged a just some bread and cheese off the cook--they were always up before dawn, at an inn, it seemed--before she headed out to the stables to prepare Gefyrst for the next leg of the journey.

The wind was brisker that day, and Taeth wondered if she should have brought a heavier cloak. Fortunately, by midday the air had warmed with the sunlight, but she wondered how much cooler the night would be than before. She'd originally hoped to cross into Anorien and stay the night there, but perhaps she should beg a spot at the Cavalry outpost just this side of the border for the night instead.

She pressed Gefyrst a little harder that day than the others. The stretch between SwiÞhanda and the border was the longest one yet, but still short enough that it could be done in a day, now that she had a better idea of what Gefyrst was capable of.

Night was just beginning to fall when she finally caught site of the outpost, more by the light of torches around it than by the actual buildings. She'd probably ridden Gefyrst a little later into evening than she should have, but Taeth knew that they were so close she didn't want to stop and make camp elsewhere. Still at least a mile out, though, and with the light fading fast, she dismounted Gefyrst. The mare would need to cool down anyway, and it was too dark to take her at anything but a walk now.

"Who goes there?" a cry went up a while later when the sound of Gefyrst's hoofbeats reached the watchmen, just before Taeth stepped into the circle of light cast by the torches. She brought Gefyrst to a halt, and reached for her insignia.

"I am Taethowen, Second Marshal of the Mark," she said as she held out the badge. "I have personal business in Anorien, but was wondering if there was a spot here where I could stay the night."

An Æthelwigend stepped forward then, inspected her rank insignia without taking it from her, and nodded. "Certainly, Marshal," he spoke. "We don't have any private bunks though. There are a couple other female Cavalry in a barrack's room though, if that would be satisfactory."

"More than," Taeth nodded, then gestured back at the mare. "Please, where might I put Gefyrst for the night?"

"There's a paddock this way," the Æthelwigend led her around through the small outlying buildings that made up the outpost. The paddock lay in the center of them, and she could see several horses housed there for the night. "Where are you heading in Anorien?"

"The Cornerstone Inn," she answered quietly as began to remove her bags from Gefyrst.

The Æthelwigend was silent for a moment. "Did you lose family there?"

"Aye."

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," he replied, clearing his throat. "I'll uh... see what's left, food-wise, in the mess, for you."

"Thank you."

(continues here)

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The Wold, traveling west from the Anduin

They awoke early to a chilly dawn. Eléo raised herself on one elbow and found Aodh just opening his eyes. “Good morning,” she said, giving him a quick kiss. “I thought about doing a cooked breakfast, but now I think I had rather stay here in the warm blankets a bit longer.” She grinned and kissed him again, then slid back into the warmth of the covers.

Some time later, they rose and prepared the horses for the day’s journey, eating a meager cold meal as they worked. “I think we should make for the Entwash today. There is a cavalry outpost almost due west where we should be able to secure at least a bed with a roof for the night. It should not be too taxing for a day’s journey across the open plains. From there we can cross the river and head south toward Edoras on the morrow.”

They set out with the sun warming their backs. The mood was a little less somber than the previous day and they talked of many things as they rode side by side. They needed to sort out where they would be living, as they had never truly settled on whether they would live together at Eléowyn’s smaller cottage, or at Aodh’s. Or somewhere else entirely.

Eléo also expressed her concern at how she would occupy her time on their return to Edoras. “I miss candle-making,” she said. “I do not want to take the shop back from Gléonild, both because she needs the income but also I have no love for the business end. But perhaps I could make some candles and give to her to sell on commission.”

Thus they passed the day, sometimes in silence, sometimes in conversation. They stopped for a noon meal, and on occasion to dismount and walk hand in hand a ways, leading the horses behind them. At last the sun was sinking low into the western sky; they had been quiet for some time. Eléo had been deep in thought. There was something she wanted to ask, but she was not sure she wanted to know the answer.

The sun had almost disappeared on the horizon when she spotted the silhouette of what must surely be the outpost, perhaps a league ahead. The fading light left her husband’s face in shadow when she turned to him. “Aodh,” she asked softly, “do you regret that we … that you … have no son or daughter?”


@Aodh Hammerhelm

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The Eastfold – Amadhrill's family's homestead

She smiled at Ælfred's humming as he got the hang of the sinking the fork into the earth and finding the potatoes. His first movements had been unsure, but he seemed to remember the movements and got into his rythm. The work was hard and tiring, thought they could soon enough see the end of the potato field and the evening was creeping up on them with the light starting to fail.

«You know your tale best, though some things I have gathered. This is not your first potato harvest, though it may be long since last you did it. And I do believe you have served in the cavalry.» Then she laughed brightly as she put the last potatoes on the heap ready to be taken to the root cellar, her eyes glittered with mishief. Her voice filled with laughter and merriment as she spoke.

«You forget, my good man, I am a hælend, if your talk prove to wearisome I will mix you a little something and you will be as sound asleep as your good friend, the halfling, in the blink of an eye.» Well, it wasn't strictly true, she had nothing that effective, she could make a sleeping potion or have a man drink himself out of his senses, but nothing that effective. And, here she had nothing that even that strong. Then she grew more serious, and added with a gentle smile. «Come, the work is done for today, good food and ale await us, and I will be honored to hear what of your tale you choose to share with me, with us, at the table.»

She lifted the heavy basket of potatoes. «Take the forks, will you?» she carried the basked carefully the few steps to the root cellar and put it together with the rest. It was a good harvest, she noted, thinking of the harvest still awaiting her in Edoras, she would soon have to be on her way back. Her husband and children, and her eored, would expect her to return soon. She would make arrangement for the herbs to be brought to Edoras. She hung the pinafore back on it's peg in the growing darkness. «There is water in a tray outside, for the worst dirt, then, if I know my sister-in-law, a wash basin with warm water, towel, and soap in a room for you to clean off the grime from your labors and your travels.»
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Dusk on the road outside Edoras

The hunt had thus far proved both fruitless, and infuriating. Mostly the issue she was having was that she was trying to balance remaining unseen with information gathering. She had by now heard that Taeth and Gwai had both been promoted to Marshal and was certain that they would have discussed the events of the festival and the fires with Shivased. She was certain beyond any doubt now that all three would expect a full report from her regarding her actions (and indeed likely a testing of her loyalties) as soon as she resurfaced from going under-cover AWOL, and she had no intention of facing any such interrogation until she at least had something to show for it.

One thing was for certain, as much as her emotions were turbulent and jumbled, her conscience was at least clear in one regard; she had made no vows and no promises that she had subsequently broken; not this time around. So far the only promise that she had made was to Pele. 'I don’t intend to stop looking until I have found the culprit' she had told the Gondorian, and despite how many nights she had spent sleeping rough, or at the mercy of an old associate (someone who had thankfully managed to avoid suspicion much better than she) and how many times the trail seemed to go cold, she had not yet given up hope that she might fulfil that vow.

Still, it was proving difficult. She had so little to go by; the inspection of the clothes had only confirmed what she already knew; slim, short, possibly a woman or a teen. Her investigation of the bread knife had been equally fruitless; it was nothing special and the sort of tool that could be found at any number of retailers across the Mark, thus not something that could be used to trace the attacker. She had resorted instead to visiting the city frequently and watching, observing, on occasion even subtly stalking people who might match this description, putting both her pæthfindian and assassin skills to good use. She had built up quite a catalogue of the city's youth, and had systematically ruled out a number of individuals who could have possibly been involved. It was long, tiring, gruelling work that others would never have committed the effort and patience towards, but she knew that all it would take was for her to identify the one person who did not fit in, whose movement were just a little too orderly or too erratic to be dismissible. She might have to cycle through following every woman and teenager residing in Edoras before she spotted something, but at least if she did and found no-one suspicious within the city then she could face the Marshals without remorse that she had tried her best to seek out malicious people within the city walls, but had been unfortunately outwitted. It wouldn't mean she would stop looking, but it meant that her search would have to persist via alternative methods.

There was a niggling doubt in the back of her mind that insisted that her efforts were in vain, that whoever had been responsible for the attack in the Riddermarket that day had likely fled the city or gone to ground, but something equally persistent told her that although this might be so, they would be back. The attack had been too chaotic, too isolated to be the culmination of intention, and yet too targeted and contrived to be something without purpose. She had convinced herself something else was going on here, and yet despite her every effort and focussed will in trying to figure it out, both the pieces and any hopes at a glimpse of the completed puzzle continued to elude her.

She pulled the tattered cloak about her once again as she stepped towards the city gates even as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, ready to begin this evenings stalkings and desperately hoping she would at least have some joy before the true winter cold set in. As she approached the city gates she kept her dirt-smeared face turned away from those people still wandering the street, hoping to find a quiet alley or side-street where the worst she would likely encounter would be drunkards and derelicts. Little did she know that tonight, one such individual would prove a much greater threat to her than any of the guards or cavalry soldiers might.

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East Emnet: Nearing the eastern shore of the Entwash:

Aodh sat silent in the saddle as he regarded the coming night and his wife’s soft query.

As the horizon finally gave way to full dark, and lamplight filled the windows of the outpost’s buildings, he edged Oswyn gently up alongside Daesûl. When his thigh found Eléowyn’s Aodh reached out and took her hand.

“Do you not know the answer, Eléo, keeper of my heart and all its secrets?” Aodh said, brushing his lips across his wife’s fingers. “Regret? Nay, for that word apportions blame and guilt that is not ours to shoulder. Wish it were so – aye, verily!”

The man who’d left his old life upon the summit of the Tafelberg fell silent. Were not children the deepest yearning of every woman and man’s heart? Had he, or his old self, ever considered parenthood beyond the continuation of the line of the Æld? He could not say truly that he had.

And then his thoughts turned to the camp on the ledge of the table mount, and the love he and Eléo had shared on the night before the final confrontation with Fleðð, The Dark Man.

They’d been younger then, so much younger than today, and the promise of a child, and many others, mayhap, lay within their twined palms.

But what future would they have offered their daughter or son? What legacy? A ceaseless quest for the Dark Tower chasing the cloak tails of their father’s nemesis…

Nay, they had chosen the true path, one that would leave them childless, but whole all the same.

"Could we ride on, do you think, léof?” Aodh said suddenly. “Night has come, and fair lodgings stand near, but the weather is fine, and I'm loath yet to share the company of others."

Not least that of the Cavalry, he did not add, with their brash bluster and inquisitive eyes and ears.

"I feel the need to be with thee, and thee alone. It is long since we’ve spent time together unfettered, and there is much yet we have not discussed…

The Entwash is near, and over it the open pastures of the West Emnet. There is something I would show you on the morrow, something which might answer your question fully.

The world will crowd in around us soon enough, I would spend time with you alone while I can. Shall we pass another night alone under an open sky? Shall we ride free a little longer?


----

The Eastfold: Amadhrill's family homestead : NPCs ~ Ælfred the One-Eyed & Ringbold Took

As Ama had predicted a wash basin stood ready outside the cote. The old wigend shed his soiled shirt and washed his forearms, hands and face. He entered the living room wearing a fresh tunic and took his place at the table opposite the hæland.

Ringbold, the hobbit, slept on in his chair. The fact that the aromas of fine fare had not stirred him spoke testament to Ama’s treatment, and the tribulations the holbytla had endured since he set out from Eryn Vorn.

The meal was wonderful and generous (the family had quite obviously laid out more than was usual to honour their guests) and the old wigend found himself eating his friend’s portion to spare their hosts offence.

He answered their questions willingly enough, but kept things light and matter of fact. He spoke nothing of his time with his thain’s harrier band, nor of the loss of his family; there were children present, after all, and he was sure he was not the only adult at the table who’d felt the bite of grief down the years.

When supper was ended he took another turn at the dishwashing, before taking his thoughts and pipe out onto the verandah.

“I thank you and yours, Ama, for your kindness and aid,” he said to the healer, bowing low at the hip as she joined him. “I deem you chafe to be away, that you have family and duty to attend elsewhere?

Ringbold and I shall rise and leave with the sparrows, for I too have things to attend in Aldburg and Edoras. I hope to see you again soon, and sit and tell you my full tale, but now I am weary…”

The old warrior knelt before the healer and tapped the base of his throat thrice.

“I am in your debt, freond,” he said. “If ever you are in need send word and Ælfred will come.” The wigend took then his leave of Ama, and sought the comfort of a soft bed.

When he awoke the half light of dawn crept through the shuttered window of the bedchamber. His nose twitched at the inviting scent of frying bacon.

Ringbold was no longer in his armchair; he stood by the stove in an apron several inches too long for his portly frame.

“Good morning,” the hobbit piped cheerfully at the old wigend. “I’ve made breakfast – the last of our provisions – enough for us and the family when they wake. Would you sit and dine, or should I pack padkos?”

“I would be away before our hosts wake,” Ælfred said. “What are these?” On the table were set four cloth bags, the last in line the largest.

The hobbit regarded the wigend with a wry smile as he finished assembling popkins for the road.

“Not food, Ælf’,” he said, carrying their tucker over to the table. “They’re gifts for Ama and her family, a thankee-sai for their kindness. There are bags of rock candy, a treat I’d hidden in my gunna and forgotten about, for the children and…”


Ringbold paused as Ælfred hefted the last pouch. The wigend’s brow rose as he set it back upon the table, and he turned a twinkling eye on his friend.

“It’s the last of my travel fund, isn’t it? The five ingots of silver from my pack, you rogue… Are all hobbits natural born thieves? So it would seem – but it is well done, little master. Come, let us away before the family wake and try to undo your good deed!”

Fall had overtaken summer while the companions slept. The wind was up and the stand of pin oaks along the fence line creaked and swayed. Ælfred and Ringbold walked their horses up the leaf strewn path that led away from the toft.

When they'd breasted the hill that looked down over the valley, they climbed into their saddles and hurried away into the brightening morn.


---
@Amadhrill & @Eléowyn
OOC: (sorry for the delay in answering!}

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Vale of Anduin:

The gorcrows wheeled and chattered above the abandoned homestead in confusion. Where was their master? His presence here was dim and faded, as if he'd never been. A row of apple trees lined a path to the river, and they spiralled toward them to take roost. But once more their voices were raised in hoarse bewilderment. Their flightpath was deflected by some intangible force, and they veered away from the green mound that stood in the shade of the orchard. Away west the carrion-fowl flew, over the bald hills of the Wold and on into the wide grey sky over the East Emnet.
- he hath not forgotten Image the face of his fathers -

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East Emnet, approaching the Entwash into West Emnet

The curtain of night was now fully drawn, and though the harvest moon rising at their backs gave promise of a silvery lantern to light their way as it rose in the sky, the shade was too deep for Eléo to read Aodh’s face. But she heard no hint of deceit in his voice, nor tones of words meant simply to placate, and so she was satisfied. She said nothing more on the subject, but squeezed Aodh’s hand in acknowledgment.

They were nearing the cavalry outpost when Aodh spoke again. “Min léof,” she replied, “I would sleep under the stars with you for all the days of our lives, if you so desired. Yes, let us ride on, free as you say, freer than we have ever been.

“There should be a ford near the outpost where we can cross the Entwash in safety. But let us skirt the barracks, lest we be seen and stopped. We can head to the river just south, then double back up to the ford. The buildings will be set back far enough to be safe from flooding so that hopefully we will not be noticed.”

She led the way, trusting Daesûl to find his footing, until at last they found themselves crossing the river into the West Emnet. The water rushing beneath the horses’ hooves told of a recent rain, though it appeared most of the rainfall had now been carried away to the Great River. On the far shore, the horses clambered somewhat clumsily up the embankment. There was a copse of trees nearby, but Eléo stopped them just short of it. She wanted to watch the stars dance overhead as she lay in Aodh’s arms, unimpeded by the silhouettes of tree branches.

“Here should do,” she said. “Close enough to the river that we can bathe come morning, if we wish, and draw water for tea as well. For tonight, shall we have a cold supper again? A fire might draw attention from across the river. And,” she added, with a playful smile, “I find I have little hunger for food this evening.”


@Aodh Hammerhelm

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Camped near the Entwash, The West Emnet:

And so the Hammerhelms waived their evening meal. They lay stargazing instead, with their blankets drawn over them, and the soft turf of the open plain at their backs.

Aodh realised he'd not looked into the night sky in this way in a very long time, perhaps not since a heady summer in a barony by the sea when he was barely sixteen. And what a joy it was to see the stars anew, not as guiding lights along endless roads, but as bright jewels splayed across the night sky, beacons of wonder to be admired for nothing save their beauty alone.

The night's chill found Aodh's chest as Eléo shifted under their bedding, and his gaze was drawn from the vast sprawl of the cosmos to the array of stars that crowned her fair head. He smiled as she had as they made camp, and then he sat, drew her close, and found her lips. Their palms met, their fingers twined, the wide world fell away, and they ran free in a place that was theirs and theirs alone. At last they slept, moonlight and the night breeze upon their flushed faces, while a dog fox yapped forlornly in the distant wood.

The couple lay as they had when sleep had taken them: Eléo's face nestled in the hollow of Aodh's neck; his arms girthed her slim hips. Aodh awoke in the thin light before dawn. Something below the grass had set a knot in the small of his back - or was it there because he was not as limber as he once had been? He cradled Eléowyn in his arms and watched the eastern sky brighten before slipping away from their bed.

The morning air was crisp, and Aodh tucked their blankets around his wife before dressing. He led the horses to the shallows, gathered water for the morning meal, and studied the distant Cavalry outpost while he washed his face. The gates of the stronghold were shut still, and a lone watchman dozed at his post. With any luck a small fire would not draw unwelcome guests to breakfast.

He made his way back to the camp, relishing the hush of the land abound him, and the view south along the river valley. The last cord of wood from the Dughlaich’s barn soon crackled merrily beneath the battered kettle. Aodh sat cross-legged upon the grass as he laid out the makings of a smoke, and planned the day’s journey.

There was no urgency to drive them on: two wide rivers lay at their backs, and the waning shade of The Dark Man. Aodh smiled as the sunlight found his face. Their new life began this morning. He and Eléo would go forward together, whatever, and naught would stand before or divide them.
Last edited by Aodh Hammerhelm on Fri Nov 06, 2020 2:13 pm, edited 4 times in total.

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OOC: OOPS! @Eléowyn

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Dusk on the road outside Edoras
w/ @Allacan ob Burzum

He was a big man lurking in the evening shadows with a nearly empty bottle hanging from his fingers. Galulf had been hanging about near the city gates, drinking and complaining to anyone who stopped long enough for him to say a few words. He’d done the right thing, telling that useless woman about the brute who had tried to hurt his boy, hadn’t he? And what had been done? Nothing, except that his woman - his wife - had tossed him out the door and told him to bugger off until he calmed down. A woman! He sneered the word in his mind, brought the bottle to his lips. What use were they, anyway. Give them a little authority, and they got uppity and tried to tell men how to raise their sons or refused to even properly report a citizen’s complaint.

Well, he’d show her. If she ever showed her face again. He hadn’t gotten her name, couldn’t go to the marshal and demand to get justice. The marshal had told him that unless he had a name to go with his complaint, she couldn’t do anything. After all, the person he had seen might not even be in the eored here. But he knew. She was a member of the cavalry, even if she looked like a foreigner. And when he found her…

So lost was he in his rumination, he nearly missed the ragged woman slipping into the alley across from where he was leaning. But he recognized that walk, and with a grim snarl he fetched off around the other side of the houses. No use following her in the street where someone might see him. Oh no, he’d slip around and confront her by and by, when they were alone.

Galulf came up to the cloak wrapped woman at an angle, his face shadowed by the shapeless hat he always wore when away from his work. “Hey, you there, woman!” His voice was low and rough, only slightly slurred with the alcohol. His beefy hand reached for her shoulder, intent on stopping her for a thorough conversation.

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Near the Entwash, the West Emnet

A crackling fire and the early morning chill awakened Eléowyn at last. She lay for a moment without moving, watching her husband perform the ritual she knew so well, carefully tamping the leaf into his weathered pipe.

A soft plop, the sound of a heron plucking its breakfast from the nearby Entwash, punctuated the morning stillness. Eléo sat up, stretched lazily, and reached for her clothes. She did not need a mirror to show her that her hair was a tousled mess. She had neglected to put it into a braid the previous night, as was her custom at bedtime. There had been other things on her mind.

For the moment she did not bother searching out a hairbrush from her pack; instead, she ran her fingers through her hair and patted it into place as best she could. Aodh was still sitting in the grass, his face turned upward into the rising sun. A simple pose, yet it filled her heart with joy to see. In all their years together, she could not recall ever seeing him so at peace.

She strode to his side and lowered herself to the ground, slipping her arm through his and resting her head on his shoulder. She knew not how far they would travel this day. It seemed the closer they came to Edoras, the more reluctant she was to end their journey.

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Camped near the Entwash, The West Emnet:

Aodh had never claimed the gift of foresight; he'd relied on Alain, and to some measure, Goldwhæt, for that. Yet now, with Eléo’s arm in his and her head upon his shoulder, he found he could read her like a book. Such was the magic of starlight on the open plain! Aodh beamed and snuggled closer to his wife.

"Edoras is a way off yet, léof, and our arrival there shall be at a time of our choosing. Do not fret - our journey has only just begun. There are places we have not yet visited together; I would share them with you before we turn our steeds towards the King’s city…”

The steady murmur of the kettle drew Aodh from Eléo’s side. He returned to her bearing mugs of strong tea and a bag of apples.

“A frugal breakfast,” he said, with a cheeky grin. “Will it be enough to see us through the day, I wonder, after yesterday’s hard riding?” He kissed Eléowyn full on the lips as he handed her, her tea. “Or will we need to halt our ride mid-morning, and find other distractions to stave off our hunger?”

Aodh sipped at his brew, stuck his pipe in his mouth and fired it up.

“I hope to bring you to a place dear to my heart around noon,” he said. “And, if it stands as it should, there’ll be rations aplenty for lunch and the road ahead after. Perhaps, if it pleases you, we shall stay there the night?

And then..?

Well, do you know, for one well-travelled, I am little acquainted with the Westfold. I have never seen your farm, nor walked its fields. Would you take me there, léof?”


---
@Eléowyn

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Dusk in the alleys of Edoras, being accosted by a drunken lout (@Éolath)

She was aware of him before he approached her, mostly by the dragging of his heels and the stench of old sweat and alcohol in the air, but in most cases it was safer to feign ignorance and just keep moving. There was no reason for a drunkard to accost her or waylay her, and she was fairly confident that she could slip by any that were foolish enough to try. So it was that she foolishly allowed him to get closer to her than she would have if she had paid attention to exactly who this looming figure was.

When he called out to her, she did not stop, but continued her gentle ambling and glanced over her shoulder towards him, a hand reaching for the knife at her belt. It was the sight of his face caught in a half-hooded lantern that brought her up short. She knew this man! He was the father of the Bema-damned kid Frost had stolen a toffee apple from! She remembered his face not only from when he caught her in the streets to report the incident, but also in Campian when he had tried to push through the crowd in a vengeful manner. She hadn't given him another moment's notice since then, what with all the business at the After Party and then the Aethelmund and the fires and the Riddermarket attack... But one thing was for sure, she also hadn't done anything to report the theft to the authorities or take any action to deal with it. If anything, she had waylaid this man in Campian to protect the likely criminal from him, at least anyone with half a brain-cell would interpret her actions thus on later evaluation.

She hesitated for a moment in the instant of recognition, and her hesitation was a mistake because it gave him a chance to lumber closer to her with surprising speed, intent on... something. She wasn't entirely sure what, but she didn't fancy hanging around to find out. His hand reached out to grasp at her shoulder and she easily rolled away from the grip with the practice of someone used to slipping out from under the assassin's knife... only to be caught up short! His grip was... surprisingly strong, and unexpectedly tight, and Allacan was no weakling! In fact she prided herself on her physical fortitude; there were few people who could match her strength, and although she knew she had spent too long scraping by on scraps while on her hunt she had not thought her lack of exercise would have had that large an impact on her capabilities. Yet this man's grip was as solid as stone and unwilling to budge, and he was built like a smith!

She quickly skimmed over his expression, trying to ascertain whether he had recognised her and determine the best tactical approach to getting rid of him, before turning away as though repulsed by his breath or perhaps afraid of him, while in reality she was trying to hide the tattoo across her right cheek - she did not need him spotting the black lines inked on her face and jumping to new conclusions.
"Leave me alone." she said, with a fake quiver of nervousness in her voice, hoping to distract him as she pulled and tugged at his iron-like grip, looking for an inch of give, a tiny bit of twist she could use to wheedle away. She didn't fancy killing him. Oh she had no qualms about taking someone's life for her convenience, certainly, but even this late at night these streets were busy and there was too much risk it might be spotted or attributed to her; that would hardly endear her to the Marshals and would surely be the last straw in the call for her arrest. She opted not to reach for the blade just yet and instead lifted her hands up in a genuine attempt to pull his grip off her shoulder and get free.




The Gates of Edoras, shortly after dawn (@WRONG LEVER KRONK!)

Grimthain stroked casually at Norman's mane, more to calm himself than the horse. The air was chill, a clear autumn morn, but it was late enough that the skies were now blue and bright rather than the kaleidoscope of golds and oranges they had been only a short time ago. He meticulously checked over the saddle and girth for the fourth time that day; checking the wax he had rubbed against his aged mount's old scars had settled and there was no sign of chafing, adjusting and re-adjusting the straps on the mostly empty saddlebags. It was absurd that he was nervous; after all he was here on personal business and the Second Marshal had seemed as keen on company for the ride to Helm's Deep as he had been. But there was something that preyed heavily on his mind, something he wanted to talk to Taethowen about, and this journey would be the perfect time to do so without fears of being overheard and misunderstood. It was nothing serious, he had told himself time and again, before chastising his boy-like nervousness and rolling his eyes at himself. Either way, the Second Marshal seemed an approachable person, albeit busy as of late, and he was keen to use this chance to get to know her better, especially as she was now commander of his old Éored. He also had a feeling she might similarly have questions of him about her new postings, questions that perhaps would be better suited on the open road where they were alone than in the middle of a busy office where any passing wigend or dryht might be eavesdropping.

His mind had focused once again on how he could serve the cavalry and recent events at Helm's Deep, and comfortably away from the turbulent thoughts of his personal life, so it was that he found himself instinctively straightening and saluting the Third Marshal when she approached, before wincing internally when he realised she may not have wished to be so formal on this journey.
"Good morning Marshal Taethowen." he offered as he self-consciously ran his hand through his shortened hair, attempting a more friendly, casual tone but still not sure about referring to her by name alone. "It looks like we have been lucky to set off in fine weather; by Nahar's blessing it will hold for the journey, the roads can be grim this time of year when the weather is less fine." He said, falling back on the socially acceptable conversation topic of the weather to ease some of the anxiety still resting in his stomach.

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The Gates of Edoras (@Allacan ob Burzum)


Taethowen had bid farewell, again, to her cousin just a few short minutes before, wanting to be out of the house before she was left there alone. Her heart had begun to heal a little while she was at her estate, thanks to Trewyn's gentle nature, but walking back into her house to be assaulted by the memories of Frost, his departure, and the moment she learned of her family... it hadn't shattered her, but it had been difficult.

Perhaps that house held too many painful memories as a whole. She wasn't sure what or where home might be anymore, but she was beginning to have a solid idea of where home was not, and Taeth was pretty sure that was Edoras.

Taeth led Gefyrst through the streets quietly. The air was chilled, as it was early autumn now, but they wouldn't be on the road as long as she'd been previously. The Hornburg was not nearly as long a journey as her estate on the Eastfold's borders. She'd sent some of her personal belongings ahead from the estate straight to the Hornburg as well, and she and Eldreda had packed up what remained at her house in Edoras over the last couple of days and Eldreda would be sending it on by wagon later that same day, and so she'd been able to pack lightly.

She'd decided not to wear her full Cavalry garb, though, and had selected the traveling clothes she was most comfortable in, and simply pinned her Marshal insignia to her Cavalry cloak. Taeth spotted Grimthain nearby, and she nodded and returned his salute when he greeted her.

"Good morning," she answered. "Please, no need to be formal. You can call me Taeth. Is it all right if I call you Grimthain?"

Taeth mounted Gefyrst, then, as Grimthain commented on the weather. "It would be a blessing for the weather to hold," she said. "Fortunately it held for my travels to and from the Eastfold."

She waited for Grimthain to mount his own horse, then they passed through the gates. Taeth nodded to the sentries stationed there, and then fell silent for a while as they made their way down the hill and out to the main road that would take them to Helm's Deep. There was not a lot of foot traffic yet, but there was enough that they both had to maneuver around pedestrians and wagons and riders alike, most of them farmers and merchants on their way into Edoras to sell the last of their summer crops, if possible.

When the road widened and the other traffic nearly ceased, Taethowen drew a deep breath of the cool morning air, and then brought Gefyrst closer to Grimthain so that they could talk. Her days on the estate with Ceadda, Trewyn, and the young girls had made her accustomed to not silence, and even now at times too much silence made her mind wander too deeply into unpleasant topics.

"I feel I should warn you now that I may be... melanocholy, at times," Taethowen said when she broke the silence. "Right before I left to tend to my estate, my cousin arrived in Edoras and she... brought tragic news of my mother and siblings." There was no need to mention Frost here. Very few in the Cavalry had been aware of that set of circumstances, with the way everything had become overshadowed by the former Second Marshal's departure, and then the Edoras fires. "Ah, my father died when I was young," she explained further. "So... if I appear out of sorts at all, it's because I'm still grappling with the idea that right now I am very, very alone in the world."
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The Gates of Edoras, shortly after dawn (@WRONG LEVER KRONK!)

Taethowen's decision to opt for informality had been a massive relief to the Æthelwigend; it would make the inevitably awkward conversation a lot easier if they were on first name terms, although it was still very weird for him to call any commanding officer by their name. Still, as they set off his insightful nature sensed a new feeling of calm, almost melancholy, hanging over the woman that had not been there when he had seen her busily at her duties only a few weeks earlier. She had been fair skipping and energetic then, but now... he couldn't quite put his finger on the change, but he logged it away for future consideration and decided not to pry.

They exited the city at a comfortable pace and did not speak much. Grimthain was himself someone comfortable with quiet companionship and if anything, the longer it went on the more he relaxed into the gentle comfort of travelling again, and the more settled his nerves became. By the time they had reached the place where the road widened he was deep in the almost meditative state of calm thought and almost felt foolish for his earlier nervousness about this whole journey.

Taethowen drew her horse - a young, fine looking creature of breeding who made his poor, loyal old Norman look even more gruff and haggard by comparison - and spoke up suddenly of the shadow of grief that lay over her. He nodded in understanding, and offered a sympathetic look.
"It is never easy learning of the loss of a loved one, whatever the surrounding circumstances might be" he said. Coming from another person, the words might sound carefully constructed, but Grimthain's expression was one of such genuine honesty that it was clear that he meant them. "I for one know how devastatingly lonely it can be when you lose so many, so close to each other. But if there is one thing I learned even through the darkest days of my depression, it is that no-one is alone. Not truly. You have your cavalry comrades, you have friends." he said comfortingly, before adding with a touch of shyness. "And if you ever need anyone to talk to about it, or vent at, or just reminiscence with, I am here for you. You also have me" he said with the quiet assurance of someone who truly meant it.

He did not press her for information, or push the conversation any further. He let her take the lead; she clearly had things she needed to process, and he was happy to be there with her while she did so. It felt healthy and good to help someone again, and a welcome relief for it to be someone trustworthy and honourable, not like all the prisoners who he had become confidente to over the years. Through his many years as Watch-master, Grimthain had developed a knack for reading people, and for getting them to open up to him and explain what troubled them. In truth, he was more experienced as a counsellor than he was as a friend, and as they journeyed on he put those skills to use. Enquiring when she seemed she wanted to share, pleasantly changing the subject or telling silly stories of his cavalry youth when she needed a distraction, riding in peaceable quiet when she seemed to need time to herself. His turn to share his own worries would come in good time, he was sure. All in good time.



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The North-South Road heading towards Helm's Deep (@Allacan ob Burzum)


"Thank you," Taethowen said when Grimthain offered to listen whenever she needed an ear, for any reason. "Although I will confess that these days I feel mostly friend-less." There was Eldreda, and Trewyn now, at least. But since they were in Edoras and the Eastfold, respectively, letters would have to suffice for a time.

"I was... traveling outside of Rohan for quite some time, you see. This is the first time I've been back in nearly a decade, and becoming Second Marshal almost straightaway upon my return was not quite what I expected. I had inquired after the Third Marshal post when I became aware that it was vacant, but I was turned down, and just as I'd started to settle into my role again as a pæthfindian, well... you know what happened, I think.

"I barely know anyone in the Cavalry anymore," she said. "Even those I called my closest friends in days long past are practically strangers to me now, and our priorities have shifted in that time, so while we've tried to see each other and become reacquainted, it simply hasn't happened."

Still, though, the first day of travel passed by quickly. Far more quickly than the days of travel she'd endured by herself as she grieved, despite the easier pace they kept. On her way to Anorien, she'd been desperate just to get the travel done as quickly as possible. To not be alone with her thoughts and feelings. Now, with the initial heart-wounds dulling in their constant ache, she found that she could savor the moments of quiet, though it helped immensely that if she spoke aloud someone would actually answer.

They stopped to make camp for the night a couple of hours before sundown, and Taeth was relieved when the two of them fell into a quiet camaraderie as they tended to the horses, built a fire, and combined their foodstuffs to figure out what to eat. If needed, Taeth would also be able to hunt some along the way--she'd not brought her custom set of archery equipment, except for the bow. Just a simple quiver and a dozen arrows.--but they shouldn't be spending more than three nights on the road if she had her distances correct.

By the time they'd finished supper, the sun was nearly sunken below the horizon. Taeth took a moment to retrieve her journal from her saddlebags, and as she sat back down beside the fire, she smoothed a hand over the leather cover.

"I don't want to talk solely about me and my hardships on this journey," she said to Grimthain, "but there is one more thing I feel I should confess. It is part of the reason I asked for references for a ceorl."

She paused a moment, staring into the burning coals of the fire, as she chose her words. The King had said her... lingering side effects from the illness were not an issue, but she still doubted that anyone besides her had realized the severity her memory issues could take at times.

"When I left the Mark ten years ago, it was supposed to be a short journey. During the Southern Storm campaign, I'd encountered a young, orphaned boy in Gondor. I ended up adopting him. But it was less than two years later when I received word that he had distant kin looking for him. Once I was satisfied with their proof, I returned him to their care." I should have fought harder to keep him, she thought. He went willingly, but still reluctantly, and sometimes being honorable is too high a price. Trewyn was right that I should seek him out again. Give him another choice, and myself another chance.

"It was on the journey home that everything went terribly wrong. I fell ill, nearly died, and while I came out of it physically unscathed by some miracle, my mind was damaged. For several weeks, I had no recollection of who I was. Most of my memories eventually returned, but it took time, and when I am emotionally compromised, physically exhausted, or--Bema forbid--under a great deal of stress, I can lose the memory of recent things that have happened. So I take great pains to write down, at least in summary, the things I cannot afford to forget.

"I am unsure yet of how I will manage this with some of the more... sensitive information I will have to handle as a Marshal. Which is why I will need a ceorl I can trust who will both be able to help me with that information, and will be able to handle the knowledge--and necessary secrecy--about the extent of my memory issues.

"My one comfort is that while I may forget events, and names, I've never lost my ability to reason or strategize."
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Second Marshal of the Mark
Westmark Éored

Knight of The Mark
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Camped near the Entwash, the West Emnet

Eléowyn accepted the tea and apples eagerly, the kiss even more so. She sat contentedly with her face toward the eastern sun, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug to warm them, and inhaled the sweet scent of pipeweed that wafted just beneath her nose. Funny, she mused, she had never cared for that smell until she met Aodh. Now, combined with the scent of finely tanned leather, it never failed to stir a longing within her.

She laughed at Aodh's mention of meager rations for breakfast, playfully pushing his hand from her thigh, and said, “Feeling a bit cheeky this morning, are you? Well, we shall see what the morning brings.”

“As for a slow journey toward Edoras, it appears you have read my mind. I am in no hurry to return to the city, and see no reason we should hasten our journey. A night spent somewhere dear to your heart would please me very much. As would the opportunity to show you my farm, humble though it may be. How is it that I have never taken you there?

"We were a subsistence farm, growing only as much as we needed for our family. It will not be much of a farm now, I have grown no crops and kept no animals for some years, but the orchards are still tended by lads from a neighboring farm, with their reward being the taking of any fruit they desire. There are apples and pears, but I am especially fond of the black plums.”

She paused to take a bite from the crisp apple, and noticed as she did so that there was the beginnings of stirrings on the opposite bank of the river. “See there,” she said, nodding her head in that direction. “It looks as if we no longer have the morning to ourselves. I doubt they will be bothered by the camp of a couple of travelers in these days of relative peace, but I would rather not have our solitude interrupted just yet. Shall we pack up camp and move on?”


@Aodh Hammerhelm

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The Road to Helm's Deep with Taethowen (@WRONG LEVER KRONK!)

"Sometimes it is less about the quantity of friends we have, but the quality." he had responded to Taethowen with a smile. Then he had simply listened to her words, knowing better than to argue to her popularity or how comfortable and competent she seemed as Second Marshal - he of all people knew that just because someone might occasionally look happy, that did not mean they were, and he did not know the woman well enough to want to try and counter her demons with his insights. Sometimes compassion was more about listening to and acknowledging someone's troubles so they did not feel so alone, and less about trying to fix someone else's problems for them. On this occasion he got the impression that Taethowen was not looking for answers or solutions, but that she just wanted to express her feelings and emotions to someone who would not judge her. He trusted that if she wanted his opinion, she would ask for it. So he just listened, and nodded in understanding and offered consoling smiles.

The journey that day was a pleasant one; it was good to be back on the road, to see the trees turning to amber and the grasses still rich with summer growth moving like waves in the wind. He hoped his companion would find some measure of balance and peace in the beautiful natural surrounds the way he was. Everything had been so manic since his arrival at Edoras... nay, since Allacan's arrival at Helm's Deep and her impromptu execution of the prisoner Cuthbert (his thoughts soured a little at the memory of the man)... that he had not really had time to process any of it. His unexpectedly swift transfer, the festival, the fires, the surprise training exercise, Éomund finishing his training, the letter from Éodred... he was glad for the peacable quiet of the road as he reflected on everything that had happened. Despite how taxing it had all been, he felt somehow younger, less weighted down with grief and troubles than when he had left Helm's Deep. He had hope for the future again. And then his traitorous mind pictured her face again, the way the light caught her eyes, the softness of her hair and the light, carefree way she smiled, and he coughed loudly to himself and gripped the reins a little harder than necessary as he focussed his mind back on the road and away from foolish notions.

They made camp in co-operative efficiency. He appreciated the skill with which Taethowen had a fire going and co-ordinated their food into a more wholesome shared meal, and told her as such with gratitude. He had noted the skill of a paethfindian in her actions, and glanced again over at the bow that hung off her saddle; not the sort of weapon normally favoured by a Marshal, at least not in his experience. When she fetched her journal and ink he set about collecting up the pots and pans, intending to simultaneously provide her with some privacy and make himself useful by taking them into the undergrowth to wash and scrub them down, thinking she would wish to be alone for her diary-writing.


"I don't want to talk solely about me and my hardships on this journey," she said before he had left the circle of the fire-light, and he paused. "...but there is one more thing I feel I should confess..." he sat himself down cross-legged by the fire and carefully placed the dishes down beside him so the noise of them would not disturb them. He glanced at her as she spoke, but kept his eye-line mostly on the dancing flames so she would hopefully feel less self-conscious. He chewed his lower lip when she mentioned the orphan, but did not interrupt her and instead let her speak, every now and then taking up a fallen stick to poke gently at the fire or adding tinder.

When he was certain she had finished saying all she wished to say, he considered his words carefully before answering.
"I never had a family of my own. Least, never any that I knew. I was abandoned as a babe on the steps of a cavalry outpost, and no-one ever claimed any kinship to me, not by blood. And no-one ever took me in as family. Although I was close to my best friend Éodred's family, they never adopted me, and then the War of the Ring began and there were too many children and not enough homes..." he trailed off, for a moment remembering how Éodred's father had fallen at Helm's Deep, when the two of them had prematurely become men at arms and had left behind all the innocent trappings of childhood. He had felt so alone then, so overwhelmed with life, probably a little like Taethowen felt now.

"Speaking as an orphan myself, what you did for the lost boy was noble and courageous. Whatever he has gone on to or whoever he has become, I am sure he will be a better and more confident person for your acceptance and nurturing. Don't underestimate the impact we adults have on children, especially youngsters. I've learned... badly, I might add... that sometimes the most valiant and honourable things we can achieve in life are to cherish and support others. Especially the very young, and especially those who have no-one else." he smiled to himself at the thought of his own ward Éomund, now a fully fledged Dryhtguma of the Eastmark, and how the young man's successes gave him so much more joy and pride than any of his own actions ever had. Then he focussed his mind again on his companion with an apologetic shrug.

"I cannot imagine what it must be like to have an unreliable memory, and I'm sorry that I have no wisdom to offer in adapting to that life. I assure you that any of the three names I offered to you as potential ceorls would be especially considerate and discrete at supporting you with your burdens, and Aldith and Teon would be especially skilled at supporting you through that particular challenge, far better than I, I admit." He paused, for a moment nervous that he had not offered anything sufficient enough to really put the Marshal's mind at ease, and so he added. "But from what I have seen you have naught to fear. Even without the support of a ceorl and in a period of significant stress and disarray, I have witnessed you leading your cavalry soldiers with confidence and exceptional skill. You are a natural leader, Taethowen, your instincts are sharp and you make good judgements, but it is more than that. You have the heart for it, and that is something your memory lapses will not take from you." He blushed then as he recalled himself, and poked the fire a little nervously before adding quietly. "At least that is the way I see it. It was a great comfort to me learning that you had taken over command of the Westmark Éored. It was good to know it with fairness and sureness again." And there he forced himself to stop, before his loose tongue had him speaking ill of his elders and betters.


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Æthelwigend of the Meduseld Éored

Thain of The Mark
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The North-South Road heading towards Helm's Deep with Grimthain (@Allacan ob Burzum)


As Grimthain spoke of his own childhood, Taethowen realized that first, he was probably not much older than her, and secondly, that she had indeed been fortunate, even for the tenseness that had strained her relationship with her mother after her stepfather came into the picture. She very well could have been homeless, or orphaned entirely, and while she'd had to fight to protect her family lands from her stepfather's greed, she'd had lands. And a family.

And part of what was bothering her so much was that she'd never had a chance to make amends with her mother. Or to know her siblings as they'd grown up. She gave an appreciative smile as Grimthain reassured her that she would have had some positive impact on the boy she'd raised no matter how short a time she had with him.

When he responded about the memory issue, she blushed a little at his praise. "I hope to live up to your expectations," she answered softly. "The Westmark seems to have had a rough go of it lately. I hope... that I can help."

She fiddled with the journal in her hands again for a moment, torn between starting to settle her mind for the night and quelling her curiosity. After a short moment, her curiosity won, and she looked at Grimthain from across the fire.

"I know only the barest details of what's happened at Helm's Deep and the Westmark in recent years," Taeth said. "The prior Second Marshal... I do not wish to speak ill of her, but there was something clearly going on there, if she allowed a dangerous prisoner to stay alive as long as she did, knowing all the while that he had a way to send information back and forth from a dungeon cell. Can you give me some idea of what, exactly, I'll be walking into at the Hornburg?"

Thain of The Mark
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The Road to Helm's Deep with Taethowen (@WRONG LEVER KRONK!)

When she asked her last question, he seemed to grow uncomfortable. He poked and prodded at the fire for a time, his breathing momentarily growing faster until he forced it to calm while his mind whirled with all the righteous indignation and anger and frustration that he had never voiced to anyone, though he had desperately wanted to. Yet he had promised himself he would be honest with her, and provide what help and assistance he could. She had asked him, and he would not lie to her; he would speak truthfully, no matter how uncomfortable it made him to do so. Yet still he hesitated, trying to find the right way to express it without risking her thinking less or him, or more relevant, less of a ranking comrade. At last, realising that it was futile and the words would never form perfectly, he threw his stick into the fire and turned in his seat to face Taethowen, and his voice was suddenly more forceful, as though desperate for someone to listen and understand and not judge him for it.

"Westmarkers are good people, Marshal. Intense, yes, rash, sometimes, inconsiderate, rarely. We have learned in the Westfolde that life is short and any day could be your last, so we live wild and love passionately and try not to fear for the future, for the most part. And we stick together, we look out for each other and we are loyal to the last. But some people... some misread that zest for life as insubordination, the energy for disobedience, the willingness to think outside the box as liberty to behave however you wish, regardless of your rank. The loyalty for softness and resilience to be untouched by bullying. That prisoner should have been executed long ago, everyone who served in the stockades knew it, likely everyone in the Keep did, maybe even the Éored. It didn't matter whether his crimes could be proven or catalogued accurately, it was plain as the sky how vicious and vile he was. And yet..." he stopped suddenly, closed his eyes and took a deep breath as though trying to compose himself. He spoke his next words as though carefully avoiding saying more than he should. "The Second Marshal had some reason to keep him alive. What it was, I do not know. But our orders were strict, and she made it absolutely clear on numerous occasions that she would not tolerate questions or disobedience." He paused, then added quietly "Please do not question me on the details of her conduct. I do not wish to speak ill of a superior officer, especially one so widely respected and who retired so honourably." Then he straightened and spoke more formally again. "But to put it bluntly and simply, sir, it gave people ideas that if evil people like that could get away with dishonesty and deceit, then why shouldn't they. Then, when the sub-commanders started sensing something was afoot, they did not root out the cause and kill the criminal, but instead came down heavy on the ranks, regardless of who they were. People grew tired of being treated like they had done wrong before they had done anything. It affected the ranks, not in an obvious way but more something that permeated through people's thoughts and just lurked in the background. People got daring and bold, and decided to start pushing the limits of what they could do. After all; what point is there in following the rules if those in command assume you have broken them even when you have not? If you are going to be called 'Stupid' and 'Rebellious' whatever you do..." his words trailed off, and he stood up from the fire as though suddenly restless, kicking some of the loose ash back into the ember-bed. He stood looking down at the flames for a time, until his heart had stopped racing and his hands had stopped shaking.

Then he turned to Taethowen again and implored her.
"Please. I have already said more than I am comfortable with, and I am sure you catch my drift. I beg you; do not judge the people of my old Éored by any standards but your own, and do not judge too quickly. They have grown used to unfairness and discipline, but many of them are good people, deep down. I know you will see that, I trust you will give them a fair chance. I only wish..." he stopped then, because when he reflected on what he had been about to say next, he realised it was a lie. He did not wish Taethowen had become the Westmark Marshal earlier, because if she had, then he would never have met Gwai. From amid even the shadows can shine the light. He smiled ruefully, and shook his head apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I have said too much. But hopefully I have said enough to answer your question. Now, if you do not mind I will leave you to your journal and see to cleaning up the camp and a good night's rest; we have a long way to go yet and I fear there is a heaviness in the air that may threaten an end to our fine weather" He bowed respectfully in the manner of a gentleman and excused himself to the night, tending to the pots and the fire so that Taethowen would not have to, and soon enough he was wrapped in his bedroll and breathing the deep breaths of sleep.

His predictions were proven true early that morning, when the first pattering of light rain began to fall even as they broke camp. They glanced at each other with understanding and hastened their preparations, so that by the time to heavens really opened they were already on the road, cloaked and hooded. The rain continued on and off for the rest of that day and much of the next, muting their enthusiasm for conversation, though they remained civil and continued to work well together; Grimthain's knowledge of the road and the terrain enabling him to lead them along safe routes, and Taethowen's skills in survival ensuring they slept soundly under cover each night.

Toward midday on the second day the rain finally faltered. They were now only a day and a half from the Hornburg, and if they managed a more swift pace they might make the Keep before nightfall tomorrow. But, familiar as she was now with the sight of Grimthain's's back as he led them along familiar roads, Taethowen's keen eyes began to notice a new tension there, and spotted him subconsciously running his hands through his recently short-cropped hair anxiously more and more frequently as they travelled. When they stopped to make camp under the lee of a rock that night, he was distracted, so much so that his hand slipped on the cooking pot as he went to portion out the food. He swore loudly as hot stew spilled over his leg, gasping at the heat as he hopped about, all the while apologising profusely for spilling their supper.


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Æthelwigend of the Meduseld Éored

Esquire of The Mark
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The Eastfold: Amadhrill's family homestead

There was nothing like the feeling of washing off the dirt and grime of a day's work, she felt the refreshed from the wash and put on clean clothes. She took herself in wondering if she would be able to travel back to Edoras as has been her plan for the following day. Well, it would depend on her patient, it could not be helped any other way.

The meal was merry, the children enjoyed the rather more lavish meal and the adults could enjoy both the food and the thought that more of the harvest had been done than they had expected. The stories brought by the old wigend, light and matter of factly brought new stories into the family, giving them stories to discuss as the days grew short and the nights long. The hælends' mother thanked the wigend many times for his help with the dishes and the food that Ælfred and Ringbold had so generously given them.

Ama smiled softly as the old wigend bowed and thanked her. She returned the bow with a soft bow of her head as he continued. «I will not deny that I have family and duties in Edoras, though my duties as a hælend is where I am most needed...»

If the old wigend's kneel surprised her, she did not let it show, but she took his hand and held it and his eyes firmly. «You must do as you see fit, but I would like to see to the holbytla before you set off again, see to it that the dressing is changed when soiled and the bandage is clean. Watch out for discolor and odor, but you and your mistress have treated the wound well so far and I do believe you will be manage it well. Once the wound is closed properly you can cut the stitches and pull them out. In the Aldburg you may find the Bealdorhælend or one of the other cavalry hælends, you can say that I sent you and they will help you as needed.»

Then she smiled again. «You and your friend, master Ringbold, can find me in Edoras in the Auld Town not far from the gate. I am well known there and in the cavalry, they will know where to find me. I hope you will come and sit and tell me your full tale, when you are ready for it...There is no debt, but I will remember your offer and I use it when I have need for you.» He took his leave and she wished him a good night.

She returned inside into the now empty room, save for the holbytla. Again she felt his skin, gentle, so not to wake him. She adjusted the blankets and found her own bed. There was the smell of bacon as she woke in the early morning, too early for any of the family members to be up. She stood up, naked feet slipping into thick woolen socks to keep the morning cold away. But she was too late, the old wigend and the hobbit was already gone as the sun rose. There on the table, the breakfast was ready and served, fried bacon and all. She shook her head, but smiled at the ladden table. There was plenty of breakfast and a few bags even. She felt a childish curiosity when she peeked into the bags and found the rock candy, but the silver took her by surprise, five ingots of silver...

She returned to her small room, changed into her traveling clothes and packed her belongings. From the other rooms she could hear the sound of her parents and her brother and his family waking. She added another log to the fire, outside the fall had come and the morning was bright and cold.

«This is for you, Mama.» She handed the bag of silver to her mother, it would mean more to them then to her, she had her income from the cavalry now and the herbs, once returned to Edoras would offer a little extra income too. She wished that the wigend and the hobbit had seen the joy of the children at the sight of rock candy, the pure joy for such an unexpected treat, and bacon too. Breakfast was a merry meal, the children could finally speak freely about the strange visitor. A holbytla, a creature of tales, and he had been there, in their own home!

Soon Ama too was up and ready. It was a long ride from the homestead to Edoras, and she was eager to start it as soon as possible. She said her farewells and rode off, letting her mind wander to the hobbit and the wigend possibly heading towards Aldburg.

@Aodh Hammerhelm (Thanks for the fun, freond min!)
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Hælend of Meduseld

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The North-South Road heading towards Helm's Deep with Grimthain (@Allacan ob Burzum)


Taethowen hated traveling in the rain, and so she was relieved when it finally let up on their third day of travel. She'd been more than happy to let Grimthain take the lead on the road, as she was not overly familiar with this part of Rohan. It was one thing to study routes on a map, and another thing entirely to actually travel over the terrain, and rain could make travel treacherous.

Once the rain let up, though, and they could finally throw back the hoods of their cloaks, she noticed that Grimthain seemed to be becoming more and more ill at ease, for some reason. While he was still courteous and compassionate whenever she attempted to strike up conversation, his words would quickly taper off, and his gaze would shift away as if lost in thought.

Taethowen didn't realize the extent of his distraction until dinner that night, when he spilled stew over his leg. Once she could get him to sit down and stop apologizing, she checked the pot next to the fire.

"It's fine," Taeth attempted to reassure Grimthain. "There's enough for us each to have nearly an entire serving. We'll just need to press a little harder tomorrow to make it to the Hornburg in time for supper at the mess hall."

Taethowen retrieved a blanket from Grimthain's bedroll, and handed it over to him. "Now, I'm no hælend, but I'm fairly certain I saw some plantain nearby as I was gathering firewood. You get your pants off and check your leg while I go find the plantain, and then--" she attempted to give him a somewhat stern look, but likely failed miserably "--you should tell me what's been on your mind. You're a more seasoned warrior than I am. You should know how dangerous it is to let yourself be distracted like this."

She stood and turned away then, and made sure as she traced back over her steps to give him plenty of time to do whatever was necessary with his pants while she looked for the plantain. When she finally returned, she had quite a large bundle of it, and handed several leaves to Grimthain. "Chew it up and slather it on the burn," she ordered, then went to tuck the rest of the leaves into his saddlebags before she divided up the stew that remained in the pot.

Taethowen handed his food to him, and then sat cross-legged at his side. "So," she said, her tone serious but still lightly teasing. "What thoughts have been distracting you to cause such carelessness?"
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Second Marshal of the Mark
Westmark Éored

Thain of The Mark
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The Road to Helm's Deep with Taethowen (@WRONG LEVER KRONK!)

“You get your pants off...” his eyebrows rose in surprise at her abruptness, and then a moment later he was laughing as his anxiousness finally found a release. He tried (and mostly failed) to sober up as Taethowen attempted to give him a stern look, but his foolish grin persisted all the same. “Yes sir” he said, with a hint of friendly sarcasm to show he didn’t mean.

He assessed the mess of his trousers, now stained with stew. He wasn’t badly hurt, but the shock of the heat had been enough to shake him out of his distraction and now the adrenaline rush had worn off he was much more relaxed, and if anything felt a little foolish. He followed her advice in a perfunctory fashion, wrapping the blanket around his waste before removing his trousers; doing his best not to step in the wet with his socks as he did so. By the time Taethowen returned from searching for the plantain he was seated beside the fire with his hairy legs on show, a blanket round his midriff like a skirt and his muddy sock and boots in ridiculous contrast to the whole thing. He had gently poured some of his water skin over the scold to take away the worst of the heat and on her return offered her a self-deprecating smile at his ridiculous appearance, but gratefully accepted the plantain when she offered it to soothe some of the burning that lingered.

He took his portion of food gratefully, careful to rest it against his good leg to spare the smarting of his hot one. He paused in the process of lifting the first mouthful at her persistent query, and gave her a sideways glance.
“I assure you that if I had spotted anything more threatening than spuds in sauce that these reactions would have been a lot more keen. But nay, you are right; I will not underestimate the dangerous fluid foe next time.” he joked companionably, but then relented.

“You are of course right, and I apologise for behaving... not like myself. I just... er... I was hoping for an opportunity to... but it’s really not a big deal... it probably not even appropriate... and I feel like such a fool for being so distracted with it...” His words petered out and for a moment it looked like he would try and avoid the conversation again. But then he glanced up to spot Taethowen’s stern look and his smile faded a little and... he blushed! As red and as shame-faced as a sperewigend who’d been caught with their hand in the quartermaster’s cookie supply.

He looked away and grimaced in shame, but with their new found cameradrie it was clear his shame was focussed at himself and not her presence. At last he spoke very quietly, but clear enough that Taethowen could still here.
“It’s Gwai he said with sad, pained inflection. “Whenever I am around her, I find myself distracted by her and focusing on silly things like the way the light catches in her eyes, the highlights in her hair, or the way her cheek dimples when she smiles. And I don’t know what to DO about it?” His tone was more frustrated now, at himself it seemed, and he grew more animated as he set the bowl down and tugged the blanket tighter about himself as though trying to burn off his frustrated energy.

“I keep finding myself thinking about her. And not as a commander. Whenever I’m in her company I feel like I’m a clumsy lad of a teenager again and I want the ground to swallow me up, but then when she is gone I regret not saying, or doing... something! And I don’t even know what!”

He stood now, pacing back and forth beside the fire, gripping the blanket in one hand and gesturing animatedly with the other, his voice almost a shout as he vented at himself. “I keep trying to clear my head of it; she’s my commanding officer for Bema’s sake, *and* a Marshal to boot! She wants, nay, she *needs* my focus and discipline. She needs me to get on with the job and stop behaving like a ninny. And I’m trying, honestly I am!”

He stopped his pacing, as though only then realising he had started, and composed himself a little.
“I had hoped that the transfer to Meduseld Éored could be a fresh start for me. And it has been; in fact the last month or so have been some of the happiest months I can remember for a long time. But I’m terrified I’m not doing my duty, to the King or the cavalry, and most of all to my new Marshal. And yet I don’t know if I am trying to prove myself to her because I want her to respect me as a capable soldier and reliable officer, or... because I’m trying to impress her for other reasons... because I’m hoping for something... more...”

He sat down, exasperated and a little deflated, and though he was quiet for a while, something in his posture suggested to Taethowen that he was not quite finished. After a while, he concluded quietly.
“I think the hardest thing is that I know what I should be doing. I should be asking to transfer back into Westmark, where I won’t put my comrades at risk by being so distracted and foolish. And the person I was just a few months ago would have done it in a heartbeat, because he put his duty to the cavalry and the well-being of his loved ones above all else. And because he’d given up any real hope of finding happiness. But now... now I find I don’t want to go back to being the lonely forgotten Watchmaster. I don’t want to leave the Meduseld Éored, or Edoras. And I don’t want to sacrifice this little bit of hope for the sake of service.” He looked at Taethowen, his blue eyes bright with honest emotion. “Is that selfish of me?”


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Æthelwigend of the Meduseld Éored

Thain of The Mark
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The North-South Road heading towards Helm's Deep with Grimthain (@Allacan ob Burzum)


Taeth's eyebrow arched as she saw Grimthain blush. She ate her stew slowly as he began to talk, but at some point, she found herself swallowing a lump in her throat and setting her bowl aside with a few spoonfuls still left in it.

Even as she paid attention to the Æthelwigend's words, and found herself smiling softly as Grimthain talked of these feelings that were apparently overwhelming him... for Gwai, a quiet ache that she'd managed to ignore, mostly, behind the grief for her family since she'd left her estate began to work its way to the forefront of her heart.

Grimthain's concerns were valid, even if he was panicking over them a little too much at the moment. But as he finished, turning bright hopeful eyes in her direction, with the question, "Is that selfish of me?" her smile broke, and she twisted away from the fire, turning her face to the darkness as tears blurred her vision.

"No," Taeth whispered when she'd regained her composure, turning back to the fire once she'd wiped away the tears that refused to heed her commands not to fall. "I don't think it's selfish at all."

She took a deep breath, and then began to address his other concerns. "First, I think you should talk with Gwai. You can never move on from a crush to something more if you don't know how she feels--and I've barely seen her in a month, so don't ask me for any insights on her feelings. She may be your commanding officer, and yes, you have duties and responsibilities in the Cavalry, but you should ask her what she needs of you before assuming that she wants only your focus and discipline.

"I would be honored to have you back in the Westmark," Taeth confessed. "I feel a little like I'm walking into a den of wargs, though I'm trying to convince myself that part of that is simply because I feel vulnerable in my personal life right now. But I've learned all too well recently, in multiple ways, that the presence of another person is not guaranteed for as long as we hope they might be around." Whereever you've gone, please be safe, she found herself silently pleading. Even if I never see you again, please, please... be safe. "Don't request a transfer to run away from your feelings. If you do transfer back, do it because you are certain it is the right thing to do. No other reason."
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Second Marshal of the Mark
Westmark Éored

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The Road to Helm's Deep with Taethowen (@WRONG LEVER KRONK!)

He felt a moment of guilt when he saw Taethowen's emotive reaction; she tried to hide it, but he was a very insightful person and spotted the way she turned away and brushed hurriedly at her eyes, despite her attempt at subtlety. He hadn't expected his foolishly clumsy troubles to have such an effect on her, and he was vividly reminded that although they may have gotten to know each other much better on this trip and she had spoken to him about some of her worries and concerns, there was still much about this woman he did not know; clearly she was someone who carried a great weight of troubles hidden beneath the surface. He felt a pang of guilt for bringing his petty troubles to her like this, until he reminded himself that they were not petty if they were distracting him enough to spill their supper, and she had insisted he open up to her about them, so she clearly cared.

Her words were wise - he had expected no less - but they were also somewhat unexpected. She didn't chastise his for his feelings, or his distraction, and he was gratefully surprised at this. Nor did she attempt to condense the complicated, emotional situation down to simplistic statements like
'Commanders should not date their subordinates' or 'Duty comes first'. They were the sort of declarations his own mind had been haunting him with for weeks, but that had slowly been losing their impact as time went on, a rhetoric he no longer wholly believed in.

When she suggested he speak to Gwai about his feeling he opened his mouth, paused a second, and then asked quietly for his own peace of mind.
"And if I did wish to court Gwai, despite our respective ranks, even if it meant my not returning to Westmark and remaining in Edoras... or perhaps even stepping away from my cavalry duties so as to avoid any compromise to either of us and our cavalry oaths... you would not object? As Second Marshal of the Westmark, or as her friend? As... as my friend?" He asked, his words sincere as he prayed Taeth would not mock him for asking. Even as he spoke, he knew it sounded like an absurd question, and yet to a man like Grimthain it was exceptionally important that this respected commander would not disapprove of him considering such actions. He knew in some ways he was asking her permission to seek to court Gwai, which was foolish in itself given Gwai was capable of deciding for herself and needed no caretaker or minder, and in any event she might still reject his advances all the same. And yet for this gentleman among soldiers it felt only proper to ask a Marshal first, and to also ask a friend and comrade. He didn't want to put the Meduseld Marshal in the same difficult position he felt he was in - torn between duty and desire - without first considering the implications that might follow thereafter. Without first seeking the permission of her comrade.

Taethowen's final words were unmistakably tinged with grief, and for a moment Grimthain pondered whether there was something more that was upsetting her that she had not spoken about, until he promptly reminded himself that losing a family was horrifying enough to leave anyone shaken, and even if there was something else troubling her, it was none of his business. He took a deep breath as a reckless thought crossed his mind, and then decided to press on all the same, and take the risk.
“I think you and I are alike in many ways; we have both lost people dear to us, we are both haunted by the idea of losing others in the same manner, and we have both reached that point in our lives where we start to question our priorities.” he said quietly. Then he stood up again, wrapped the blanket more thoroughly around him so it covered his bare legs, and shifted to sit beside her on the log they had rolled to the fire-side to use as a seat. His eyes stayed focused on the firelight, but he offered her a hand to hold, if she wanted to. As a friend. Intimate, but not romantic, just companionable. "If it is a den of wolves you walk in to, and I am not convinced it will be, then you will not walk in alone. My own personal affairs in the Westfolde can wait, and I am sure my Meduseld comrades and my Marshal can afford to spare me for a time to support my home Éored. I will remain in the Hornburg until such a time as you feel safe and secure there. Unless, of course, you order me to leave before then..." he said with an honest shrug, before suddenly adding with a mischievous grin. "In which case I warn you, I may consider turning into a rebel and ignoring such orders if I think you are dismissing me just so you can neglect your own well-being. I'm a foolish romantic now, don't you know? And they are prone to ridiculous things for the sake of those they care for." he said, leaning in to nudge her jokingly, although there was still a hint of honesty to the words that made it not a completely false threat.


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Æthelwigend of the Meduseld Éored

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Leaving camp, The West Emnet:

The fire was quenched. Aodh stowed their mugs and kettle, and led the horses over to Eléowyn. They tied their bedrolls on Nadene's mare and embraced as Aodh looked out across the Entwash. Sunlight found the helms and spear tips of the patrol as it moved across the ford. Aodh counted the Riders as he sized up their steeds.

"Aye, let us away, léof," he said. But Eléo had already slipped from his arms, and her foot was in the stirrup as he turned his back on the approaching horsemen. He took a brief moment to admire her lithe limbs and leather clad 'hind as she swung onto Daesûl’s back, then took the charger's bridle in hand.

"What's this, no farewell kiss?" he said, grinning up at her. "Or are you saving that as a well-met when we've thrown these whipper-snappers off our tails? Let's show these young bloods that there's life in two old campaigners still! Make your way down river a mile or two. You'll find a wood at the foot of the hill: first right along the path, and hard left a league or so after. I'll find you on the other side!"

With that he was away with Wulf, the ever faithful hound, hot on his heels. Springing into the saddle Aodh sent Oswyn cantering towards the oncoming line of Riders. He reined in below the stand of gold-decked larches, and Oswyn reared up on his hind legs. "Good morrow, ærslings!" Aodh boomed at the Rohir, as he sent Os’ galloping down the drop to the grasslands below the hillock.

They criss-crossed the countryside for several miles, Wulf yapping happily as he bounded through the tall grass. Aodh threw his head over his shoulder occasionally to gauge their pursuers' progress. He smiled as he swung Oswyn back toward the river valley. The entire patrol followed on behind, and they fell ever further away as the harrier-mount found the full measure of his stride.

Steed, master and hound entered the forest from its eastern fringe, and they cut a meandering course along the shaded pathways. Sometime later they found again open pastures. A mile or so ahead, on a broad plain beside the Entwash, Aodh spotted his wife waiting upon tall Daesûl with Nadene's mare at their side.

"I'll have that kiss now, if it please you," he grinned, as he drew up alongside his wife. Eléo’s cheeks were flushed, and her unbrushed hair was tousled further by her ride. To Aodh, she was as winsome as he'd ever seen her.


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@Eléowyn

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The North-South Road heading towards Helm's Deep with Grimthain (@Allacan ob Burzum)


"And if I did wish to court Gwai, despite our respective ranks, even if it meant my not returning to the Westmark and remaining in Edoras... or perhaps even stepping away from my cavalry duties so as to avoid any compromise to either of us and our cavalry oaths... you would not object? As Second Marshal of the Westmark, or as her friend? As... as my friend?"

Taethowen sniffed, biting at her lips as she looked down at her lap where her fingers twisted together. A brief moment of anger--envy, if she were completely honest, that he had more freedom to step away from the Cavalry if he so chose--washed over her, but she pushed it away as she answered Grimthain's questions, looking back up at him when she'd wiped her envy from her mind. "The only objection I would have to a relationship between you and Gwai is if it was being forced, by either of you. I, and I believe Shivased and Gwai as well, would be disappointed to see you leave the Cavalry entirely, and perhaps there is some role you can play where you can still be in Edoras but not be directly in the Third Marshal's chain of command, but it would not be the first time I've seen a couple work together in the Cavalry.

"You... served during the Southern Storm campaign, correct?" Taethowen asked. "I was in the Eastmark back then, and so very young. That was my first true battlefield experience. But my marshal then--Malorn--was married to his feldmarshal, Ele. You appear to be an honorable and thoughtful man, Grimthain. I don't doubt that wherever a relationship with Gwai--if she wants it--might lead, that you will be judicious and cautious in your interactions on-duty, and that you won't allow it to interfere with your judgement again." She wryly glanced down at his blanket-skirt.

His next words, though, nearly cut to the heart of the matter. "... we have both reached that point in our lives where we start to question our priorities." She was surprised when Grimthain stood and came to sit beside her, offering his hand to her. She hesitated a moment. There were few people that she felt... safe taking physical comfort from, even as simple as holding hands. But then her hesitancy turned to resolve, and she slid her hand into his. She had far too few friends these days.

As he swore to do whatever necessary to help her settle in at the Hornburg, Taeth smiled sadly. "I will be glad to have you there for as long as you're willing to stay," she answered.
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Western shore of the Entwash

“You will have to earn that kiss,” Eléo laughed at Aodh, “by throwing these interlopers off our trail. I will be waiting for you!” And with that, she dug her heels in and sent Daesûl flying, just fast enough to allow the mare to stay by their side. The wind was in her hair and the morning air smelled fresh and Eléo could not recall when she had last felt so light and free.

Aodh’s directions were good, and soon enough the horses were happily grazing on the tall plains grasses. Eléo pulled a black bandanna out of her pack, which she intended to use to tie back her hair. But a different idea struck her. Laughing to herself, she pulled out her knife and cut two holes along one edge. If Aodh was unable to shake the Riders, she would have a surprise waiting for them. A disguise would not fool them for long, but at least they would have a good story to take back.

Before she could carry out her plan, however, she saw Aodh crossing the plain at fair speed. “Hold on a minute,” she replied playfully to his demand for his reward. “Are you alone?” Aodh reassured her the Riders had fallen far behind and had likely given up the chase in any event. “Well then,” Eléo replied, as she tied the bandanna over her head and upper face, leveraging the holes so she could see through them. “How do you feel about kissing a leather-clad pirate?”


@Aodh Hammerhelm

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Acgesmet, West Emnet
Several days before the journey with Grimthain

Three more days of travel, and the foodstuffs Trewyn had sent her lasted until she arrived in SwiÞhanda, where she'd restocked with enough to make it to Acgesmet. Taeth had debated stopping here every step of the way, but she had to come anyway to pick up the wolf pelts from the Cavalry mission, and... it would have been shameful of her to be here and not stop to visit her father's grave.

She'd at least managed to, mostly, keep her thoughts from wandering toward Frost as she picked up the wolf pelts and paid the tanner. The conundrum of Walpurga could be pondered later.

And now, with the bundle of wolf pelts strapped behind Gefyrst's saddle, and her foodstuffs restocked again for the final leg of her journey to Edoras, Taeth made her way out of the small town and toward the burial mounds north of it.

She, honestly, couldn't remember when she'd last been there. She was certain she'd come before she enlisted in the Cavalry the first time, but the memory was dim and shadowed, likely one of the ones that had fallen prey to her illness. If she'd come again after that, she didn't recall at all.

There were more mounds now than when he'd been buried, but then it had been over twenty years. Taeth walked through the rows slowly, looking for the marker they'd left behind. When she finally found it, it was deep within the middle of the burial mounds, when she knew it had been on the very edge of the burial site all those years ago when she was young.

It was a simple stone--one she'd had commissioned a few years after his death, once she'd acquired enough funds independently of her mother--engraved with the same image that was on her medallion.

As she stopped before the burial mound, the wind began to pick up and swirl through the tall, drying grasses, with more of a chill than had been in the air even a few days ago. Taeth shivered and pulled her cloak a little tighter around her. She stood in silence for several moments, Gefyrst at her shoulder, unsure of what to say first.

She was not the person she thought she would be. Not the person she thought her father would have wanted her to be, and she was not yet certain how she felt about that.

"Father..." her voice caught in her throat. She hadn't felt quite this alone in a long time, not since he had died, if she was honest. Trewyn had been a great comfort while she was at the estate, but there were still moments that were very, very difficult.

"I miss you." She bit her lip as her eyes started to burn. "I miss you, father, and I... wish I knew you better. I wish I remembered you better. And... I think I miss what my life might have been if you had been in it longer. And modor is gone now too... and Cary and Cadman. But they're probably already with you and I'm just... left alone, now.

"So much has happened the last decade, father. And I... feel like I don't know anything anymore."

She wiped the tears away from her eyes as they began to fall. "I remember the day you told me that all the Anhyrne estate would be mine. I don't think either of us expected it to happen so soon. And... I'll be honest... I'm not the person you expected me to be. Maybe I would have been if life had played out differently but... maybe not. I don't know.

"I've been away for a long time. I've experienced some things and recently... done some things that I never thought would be part of my life. And it's changed me. I've always wanted to protect our family lands, to one day raise a family there but now... now I don't know. I came back to the Riddermark thinking I could just slip back into the life I'd had before, with just a few changes. But I don't think I can."

Gefyrst nudged her shoulder then, and Taeth found herself letting out a small laugh that broke into a sob.

"I've got a beautiful mare with me though, father. Before I left to join the Cavalry--the first time--I'd worked on the project you started, with the line of blue roans. I was getting close. She has streaks of white in her mane and tail but... I don't know if I'll ever try to finish it. This mare, though, she was born right before I left. And when I came back, I found her again. She's so beautiful..."

Taeth fell silent again for several moments, a jumble of thoughts tumbling through her mind. Which things to say, which things to hold close... what decisions she might make, if she truly wanted to live her own life.

"Would you ever forgive me, father, if I sold the estate? Someone... suggested it, recently. I don't know yet if I would really want to, and I'm not going to make a decision that big right now. My heart hurts too much.

"But... maybe, for me, it would be the right decision. Maybe."

Taeth wasn't sure if she felt better. She didn't know if she thought that maybe, somehow, her father could hear her from beyond the grave. But even if he could, it wasn't like she would hear an answer. These were all decisions she would have to make on her own. Alone.

"I guess I should go now. I'm a Marshal, for the second time, and I've been away from Edoras for too long, I think. Even if the King did grant me leave."

With that, she wiped her eyes one more time, mounted Gefyrst, and turned south towards Edoras.

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The Road to Helm's Deep with Taethowen (@Taethowen)
(Several days after her trip to her family's graves)

Taethowen's words might be considered by some to not be worthy of epic sagas or of any great worth, but to Grimthain her simple responses and frank assurances were worth a hog's weight in gold. "I would always seek to treat Gwai with respect, whatever our respective positions, and consent is intrinsic to respect, of course. She may of course reject me yet, and I would not hold that against her, but just the knowledge that these emotions are not disloyal or disrespectful in some way is comfort to me." He nodded as she reminded him of Malorn and Eledhwyn, both great heroes in their own right, but also lovers who served together. He had never served under either of them himself though, so he had not himself witnessed their capabilities as commanders. He had, of course, more recently witnessed the relationship between a different Marshal of the Westmark and her Dryhtguma husband, but that was another thing entirely...

He squeezed her hand in gratitude and empathy, allowing the quiet moment of them sitting beside each other to just sit for a moment, then released his grip before it grew awkward.
"I have much to reflect on about the whole thing, and I suspect that some time back at the Hornberg in familiar surrounds will help me consider it all. In the meantime, I suspect you have missed writing in your journal, and I myself am neglecting my stomach." he said with a grin, before fetching his bowl and making a fresh start on the food, feeling significantly unburdened by their discussions.

The rest of the night passed quietly, and when the new dawn came it was one of orange fires burning into purple paint; the sky a kaleidoscope of beautiful colours as the low clouds celebrated the clear sunlight alighting on the land. For Grimthain it felt like a reflection of his new mood of hope and eagerness. He had woken early and roused before Taeth in an attempt to achieve breakfast before she woke. But his mood was so high at the gorgeous view that he found himself humming a tune and before long he had forgotten his slumbering company and began quietly singing to himself as he checked over the horses, his deep, rich voice carrying further than he realised.

"Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Breeze driftin' on by
You know how I feel..."


He grasped poor Norman by the cheeks and stared into the grizzled horse's big, dark eyes as he sang the crescendo to the world at large.

"It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life.
For me... And I'm feeling good"


He turned back to the camp and then suddenly found himself blushing even as he spotted the wakening Westmark Marshal, apologising and presenting her with the waiting breakfast before going about the business of striking camp in a somewhat more reserved, but no less relaxed fashion. Whatever burden had plagued him on the ride the day before, it had clearly been lifted overnight and if anything he seemed invigorated and more purposeful as they set out for Helm's Deep that morning. His optimism and energy was almost infectious, and in a more scheming person might have been a strategic attempt to brighten Taeth's mood. But if it did effect her in such a manner, it would likely be because of his sincerity and frank honesty. That day for the first time in many a year he rode not like he was retreating away from a dark past, but instead with the unerring focus forward of someone who know not only where he had been, but had big plans for where he was going now. As a result of his optimistic energy they made good time, and reached the gorge of Helm's Deep before sun set. In a burst of enthusiasm and respect for his comrade on the journey, Grimthain dug his war-horn from his saddle-pack and sounded the call for 'Returning Warriors' with such precise timing that Taethowen's arrival at the Hornburg was met with the glorious welcome of the Westmark warriors joining his cries and calls with the notes of their own horns, as weapons and banners were held high aloft in a rejoicing welcome to their new Marshal.


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Æthelwigend of the Meduseld Éored

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Riding the West Emnet to Breeze Hill:

Aodh watched in bewilderment as Eléowyn placed a length of black cloth over her head. Her fingers tucked her hair under the doek, and tied it deftly behind her neck. She turned to face him, and the pace of his heart quickened. Eléo’s face was masked and strangely alluring; her eyes twinkled from the apertures she'd cut in the bandanna, and her lips, rose-red and pert, were puckered invitingly.

"Aye, I would," Aodh chuckled. "Are we not alone on the open plains, and out of the sight of others?” He grinned at his léof mischievously, his thoughts drifting to the silk scarves stowed in the base of his gunna: “Thank Bema you’ve not sprouted a moustache though - that would tickle!” He leaned over, took her hands, and planted a lingering kiss on her mouth.

"Arrr!" Aodh said huskily, as he turned his face reluctantly back on the trail ahead. "That will have to do for now, me hearty! We've a few wheels yet to turn before we reach our luncheon place." He flicked Oswyn’s reins and led them off across the grassy plain.

Due south the Hammerhelms rode now, under pleasant skies, in companionable silence. The land about them was wide, green and empty. A series of low hills, cut through by branches of the Entwash, rolled out before them. Around noon they climbed the last of these verdant tors and looked out over a broad valley. A densely forested hill stood at the centre of the dale, the grey ribbon of a wide stream swung around its shoulder, and on along the length of a fenced paddock.

"Not far now, léof," Aodh said to Eléo. "Our destination lies beyond yonder hill. I wonder if Sai Grünewæld is sitting down to lunch? We'll know soon enough...” They splashed through the shallows of the stream and climbed the forested slope at a canter.

“Welcome to Breeze Hill,” Aodh called to his wife as they achieved the summit. “It is long since I have been here. See, there below us is the estate of Phinæs Grünewæld, fair Whispering Pines. It is there that The Harriers - Ælfred, Goldwhæt and others – oft sought respite and refit before the Enemy was vanquished.

But I see no smoke from the chimney of the cottage, or indeed from those of the bunkhouses beyond. I hope we are not now disappointed. Or that I've brought you over many leagues to nought but an abandoned shell.”


--
@Eléowyn
- he hath not forgotten Image the face of his fathers -

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Dusk on the road outside Edoras
w/ @Allacan ob Burzum

“Leave me alone.”

The slight quiver in her voice made him smile, his lips peeling away from his teeth in a parody of a grin. He bunched her shirt firmly into a ham sized fist, only laughing softly when she struggled to get away. She was just a little thing, after all. A woman. If she’d just stayed home, made a good marriage, he wouldn’t have to be stalking her in some back alley. No man would have treated him like she did.

Galulf snarled a bit as she brought her hands off to pry his fingers away from her shoulder. “Stop that, woman. Just stay where I put you and no one’s a’gunna get hurt.” He grabbed her other shoulder, anger at her continued struggles giving him the strength to lift her onto her toes. “I ought t’take you up to the marshal, you’re no better than that vicious brute who ‘ccosted my boy.” He leaned closer, his face pressing closer to hers as he tried to focus his bleary eyes. “I bet you ain’t even cavalry, I figure you were in league with that...that…”

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Dusk in the alleys of Edoras, being accosted by a drunken lout (@Éolath)

Her wriggling and wheedling only seemed to encourage his aggression, and she radically re-evaluated her assessment of the man; this was clearly someone who expected subservience. Her lips curled into a silent snarl at the thought, but she swallowed down the urge to lash out at him in retaliation; she did not want to cause a ruckus that would draw more attention than was necessary, and the last thing she wanted was this man blabbering to the Marshal’s about her sneaking through alleys and being complicit with criminals.

She tried to turn her face away and close her mouth as he forced himself towards her, the stench of alcohol thick on his breath. She pulled and tugged with more tenacity now only to feel a moment of dread that she could not escape his Titan-like grip. Was this man a blacksmith in a previous life?!

She forced herself to meet his gaze, and her face became sudden coldly neutral as she spotted the murderous gleam in his eye and finally realised the serious danger she was in. Drunk, angry, malicious, self-righteous and vengeful... this man would not pull her before the Marshals. She could see in his cruelness that -this- time he would see the deed done himself.

She immediately dropped all pretence at fear and in a low, quietly threatening voice warned
“If you don’t release me right now, you will not live to regret this night.”

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Dusk on the road outside Edoras
w/ @Allacan ob Burzum
The ineffective struggles of the woman in his grasp turned his snarl into a malicious sneer. He’d show that little woman just where her place was, and get the respect he deserved. He was sick and tired of women thinking they were so strong and independent, giving him orders, and treating his family like dirt. He’d just show her. Galulf shook her a little, his hands tight on her shoulders even as his eyes focused on her face.

She did not look afraid. But she had nearly whined earlier, her hands weakly fluttering around his grasp. He nearly dropped her at the suddenly threatening voice. And then his eyes hardened. No pale faced little wench was going to give him orders.

“Are you threatening me?” his voice was a slurred hiss as he wrenched her up towards him. “No one tells me what to do,” his hands shifted on her shirt, and he raised one meaty paw to backhand her.

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Dusk in the alleys of Edoras, being accosted by a drunken lout (@Éolath)

Life narrowed into simplicity and purpose as the lurking, evil beast within her roused. Here was another cancer, festering in the land of her home, a tumour to be cut out by the surgeon’s blade. At his words, she crooked an eyebrow, unintimidated by his powerful presence or looming aggression. She responded with calm coolness. “Threatening?” she said with just enough of an unexpected tone to catch his attention for a few moments. “Is the shadow of the hawk a threat to it’s prey? Well that depends on the prey; if the little mouse is clever then it will flee for cover. If it does not, then the mouse is as much to blame for its fate as the hawk. You’re move, mouse” she said disparagingly.

Despite his grip holding her tightly in place, she did her best to roll with the blow across her face when it came. As she had been taught; not in combat training but in the school of learn-or-die that was the back-streets of Mordor. The blow stung, but not enough to stun or cause serious damage. Instead it was a pleasant, waking shock that had her fingers itching and heart racing as she felt all her instinctive responses come alive in the moment. Time seemed to slow, or perhaps her mind was racing and processing every instant with electric focus.

She was not even trying to escape him now. Her body seemed limp and loose, ready to take any strike that he might rain down upon it, but in truth it was poised and alert but avoiding unnecessary tension. She turned her face back to him, the tip of her tongue tasting at the blood dripping from the corner of her mouth before her face curled into a half-smile. Like she was... enjoying herself.

Her pupils were wide and black - no sign of her blue irises - and had the man been paying attention he might have noted that her exhaled breath was oddly, unnaturally chill. She narrowed her eyes even as she tilted her head and smiled.
“Fighting back won’t save you now, little mousey. You better flee before it’s too late.” she crooned with a smile, and then for extra audacity, winked. Her obvious arrogance would have infuriated even a lesser person; it was intended to be furiously distracting enough that he would not spot her slipping her right hand under her left sleeve, reaching for the deadly blade secreted there.

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Dusk on the road outside Edoras
w/ @Allacan ob Burzum

What was she babbling about? He sneered at her words, what did he care for hawks or mice? And he was just drunk enough to miss the darkness suddenly spring into her eyes, but he could not stop the shudder at her stare. And that only infuriated him more. He was afraid of no woman. He was the one she had wronged, and he would get satisfaction.

He shook her again, watched the blood well from the cut on her lip. And hit her again as she winked at him. His fist balled, the blow slow by powerful and backed by a sudden lust to see more blood, to wipe that look of contempt off her face. Galulf lifted her by her shirt again, aimed another blow at her face then her stomach before throwing her back against the wall. He wouldn’t bother the marshal with a bit of trash like her, he decided as he stalked towards her once again. He’d take care of her punishment himself, then…clean up after himself. No use leaving her alive to identify him later.

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Breeze Hill to Whispering Pines, The West Emnet:

The Hammerhelms sat in silence a-time atop Breeze Hill; the valley below the wooded tor was fair and peaceful beneath the midday sun. At the foot of the forested slope Aodh marked a series of stepped pools bounded by a hedgerow of mature hawthorn. A cobbled path, carpeted with fallen leaves, ran along the line of the hedge, then over a broad meadow to the buildings of the homestead.

His eyes shifted from the landscape below them, and he looked upon his wife intently. Eléowyn sat mute in the saddle. Her makeshift mask made it difficult to gauge her mood. For a brief moment Aodh thought her disappointed, or alarmed, by what she saw. There was no disguising the similarities between the vista below them, and the layout of the croft they’d left beside Anduin.

And there was the solitary hill upon a river plain to chew upon too: wooded it might be, not bare like the Tafelberg, but a reminder of that fell place still.

He nudged Oswyn closer to Daesûl, and took Eléo’s hand gently in his. Her posture in the saddle told its own tale: she was exhausted, as was he. Their trial upon the tablemount, and their leave taking from Nadene, was but days behind them. The strain on body and soul would not be shed lightly. It would be many weeks before they were fully rested and restored.

He shifted his hand, took Daesûl’s reins and led them down the hill and on along the path. When they reached the stone cottage, he dropped from Oswyn's back and secured their horses. He helped Eléo from the saddle, lifted her bodily, and carried her over the threshold.

The abode was quiet and clean, and the large bed in the master chamber bathed in light through the south facing window. He laid his wife upon the soft mattress and covered her with a blanket. He removed the mask from her face, and smiled. Eléowyn, his léof, was fast asleep. He kissed her on the forehead, then made off in search of Phinæs Grünewæld.


--
@Eléowyn the Fair
- he hath not forgotten Image the face of his fathers -

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NPC: Olimir (Errand-rider of Gondor) Halfway to Helm's Deep

Olimir enjoyed the ride from Edoras towards Helm's Deep. The road was well surfaced, and wide and empty, so he was able to gallop along at a good speed. This was his first trip to Rohan and he still found everything strange and new. There were empty places in Gondor and even around Minas Tirith, but he had never seen so much open country or grass so green before.

As he rode along he wondered what had happened to Calimir. Rohan was Cal's posting and he should be delivering messages (and lemons) here, not Olimir. Oli's normal area of operations was up the Anduin past Cair Andros for about 20 miles. Luckily he'd been on leave when Calimir seemed to go missing, and their captain had asked him to step in for Cal'.

It wasn't so bad, Oli thought. He was getting extra pay and seeing new places. It would be nicer though if the countryside wasn't so empty. Oli was a gregarious sort of chap, and he loved a good chat.
man of gondor < Image > heart of rohan

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Dusk in the alleys of Edoras, being accosted by a drunken lout (@Éolath)

He had no idea the torture and torment she had suffered in the black pits of Mordor. In such a hopeless, desperate place, you had to learn to love the pain. You became it, let it own you, control you. Worse still, he had no idea the shadowy evil beast that resided within her, possessing her form as surely as cancer, only just starting to show the faintest glimpses of its presence thus far overlooked by the drunken man.

As he continued to beat on her repeatedly her smile kept returning, and then she guffawed a moment like an escaped giggle, and then she was laughing. One side of her face was broken with cuts and already swelling and blackening under his ministrations. The blow to the stomach changed her tune a moment, winded her long enough for her sounds to become wheezes, but even then she still chuckled as she slowly straightened again, spitting blood and perhaps a tooth off to one side as she cocked her head and regarded him as he stalked towards her and wrapped his hands around her neck.

Only when he got this close could he properly see that even in the darkness of night her skin colour seemed... odd. The warm pink, flesh had become greyed as with the shadow of death, and her breath continued to exhale in frosty wisps that stank of death and decay. And her eyes; those eyes that peered at him now were not the blue and white human eyes of a Rohir, but were untarnished jet black orbs of pure evil. She bared her bloody teeth at him in a grin even as his fingers closed around her throat and squeezed.

And then the strange spectre faded from her face, and she was struggling with the wild, panicked desperation of one who knows death is near, lungs burning and fingers clawing at his big fists and trunk-like arms as he held her pinned against the wall.

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Whispering Pines, the West Emnet

A windstorm was raging atop the tafelberg, and with every gust Aodh slipped closer to the gaping door at the summit. Eléowyn frantically dug in her heels to the dusty earth, trying to gain purchase as she struggled to wrest her husband from the evil force seeking to claim him. At the last possible moment, just when all seemed lost, Aodh was freed. Their enemy disappeared into the void behind the door as it slammed shut.

Husband and wife clung to each other, exhausted yet reveling in their victory. They were too distracted to notice that the wind, which had subsided with the disappearance of both enemy and portal, was finding new strength. A sudden flash of light, and through the newly reappeared doorway jumped the man in black. “Boo!” he chortled gleefully.

Eléowyn’s piercing scream cut through the howling wind. “No! …”


“Aodh!” She sat straight up, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, adding to her confusion and terror. “Aodh!” she called out again, softer this time, though still urgently. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped herself tightly in the blanket, trying to steady her breathing while she reminded herself it was only a dream.


@Aodh Hammerhelm

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Dusk in the alleys of Edoras (with @Allacan ob Burzum & @Éolath )

A small cluster of trees, which were stooped low, bent with age, sent long shadows crawling across the grassy meadow ahead, as the autumnal sun fell behind them. Nia mused to herself that the little copse was like a very small, forlorn part of Fangorn Forest; a thicket of trees which had wandered too far south, got lost as their path had digressed from the Entwash River, and then stubbornly taken root, remaining in place for centuries since.

They looked out of place and at odds with their surroundings, which was how Nia felt most of the time these days, although she didn’t look a hair’s width out of place herself, dressed in the old garments she’d always worn whilst going about her business in Rohan. The former-Rohir (it had been so many years since she’d truly called Rohan home that the epithet Rohir caused Nia to feel something akin to imposter-syndrome) had been circling the trees in a roundabout way for some time now.

Walking aimlessly, listlessly, had always been something of a speciality of hers. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of where she should next set her heart on venturing off to. She’d spent many, if not happy, then perfectly satisfactory years alone, meandering around the wild, dark, timeless world of Fangorn Forest, and her impromptu and unexplained return to Rohan to make an all too brief appearance at the Summer Festival after party had taken her quite by surprise. Her mind turned to the people she had briefly seen there, including a friend of old, Allacan. Nia had missed the social elements which came from having established friendships, or at the very least acquaintances, close-by, and being able to tap into them on demand, but if truth be told, she had come to discover and cherish a certain peacefulness which came only from relying on no one, and being relied on by no one. The sheer number of people at the party had been a bit overwhelming for a young woman who had, to all intents and purposes, become something of a hermit.

Back to Fangorn it is then Nia thought sheepishly to herself, allowing a wry smile to play across her lips. As a child she’d been mortally afraid of the place, how funny that its quiet remoteness now seemed to have an unrelenting hold over her. With her decision made to head back up north, she turned back to face the hill upon which Edoras was built, clearly visible in the distance behind her. One final trip back to the city, for old-times’ sake, Nia thought to herself, without really understanding why.

Dusk had well and truly settled as she strolled through the gates of the city, satchel of rag-tag belongings strung carelessly across her shoulder, a plain leather belt with a blade tucked into it clasped around her waist, and her dark cloak and fair hair both catching the breath of the cooling evening breeze. With no planned destination in mind, as ever the case, Nia found herself walking through a tangle of different streets and alleyways, every so often taking a turn to avoid overly crowded streets.

... “Fighting back won’t save you now, little mousey. You better flee before it’s too late.” ...

The way the words were uttered instantly drew Nia’s attention in a way which would not have been the case for any other back-alley conversation. She paused, just a step away from a corner which would presumably take her face-to-face with the people she was now well within ear-shot of. Arrogance oozed from every syllable of those words, and quite apart from the fact it was obvious some transgression was about to occur, perhaps already had occurred, Nia found herself utterly intrigued.

She stood still, silent, and felt her senses tingle as they were stood up into action. Moments later Nia heard the unmistakeable sound of flesh hitting flesh; although it was a strangely noiseless affair, no screeching or shouting as was often the case for bouts of street violence. This just served to make Nia all the more curious. Was the receiver of these bludgeons even defending his or herself? What was causing the anger? Did they know each other, or was this a mugging?

Throwing caution to the wind, Nia stepped into the alley, and saw the sight of a large burly man pummelling a dark haired woman. She couldn’t make out any more than that, given the gloom.
“Oi!” Nia exclaimed loudly, and surprisingly fiercely for a woman who'd barely used her voice in the past few weeks. There could be no doubt in the assailants mind of her presence. Now that she was actually witnessing the skirmish, Nia knew she had something of a moral responsibility to try to make herself useful in breaking it up. She wondered, somewhat doubtfully, whether the mere presence of a witness might have the effect of stopping the assault.

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Dusk on the road outside Edoras
w/ @Allacan ob Burzum @Nia

He hesitated a moment, his fist raised by his ear and blood splattered over his face. Her face was…wrong. Her eyes went…black. Galulf nearly dropped her, such was the evil reflected in those eyes. Then she smiled and just as suddenly the evil feeling disappeared and she struggled, like any other creature caught in a death hold. The frantic movement re-ignited his drunken blood lust, and the fear that had started as a shiver in his spine retreated.

“You dumb baggins,” he snarled, wrapping his thick hands around her throat again and squeezing ever so slowly. He liked it when the animals struggled during slaughter, that panic and fear as he slowly killed them always made him feel invincible. How much more would it be with this useless woman, he wondered with a sneer. She was not in her place, and when women didn’t stay in their places they needed punishing. He squeezed harder, watching with glee even as he lifted her in his strong hands until her toes barely reached the ground. It wouldn’t be long now.

A hoarse cry interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder long enough to see another woman out of her place. A leer split his face, his teeth glinting in the dim light. “You have a friend,” he snarled at his captive, “Someone to accompany you into death.”

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Dusk in the alleys of Edoras (encountering @Allacan ob Burzum @Éolath @Nia )

Afternoon gave way to twilight when Lailyn returned to Edoras on horseback. She had spent the latter part of the day practicing archery outside the city again. Every time she went it seemed to wash away more painful memories tied to the string and yew. The fading light was perfect for keeping her return a secret. The evening’s chilly touch was ever more helpful and her cloak was wrapped about her, shrouding her golden hair in its embrace. Steering her horse along now-familiar back streets and alleys, she looked forward to nothing more than a nice meal and a quiet evening at home.

Yet again, it seemed she was cursed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Horse and rider just passed the mouth of the alley when… “Oi!” A woman’s cry caught her attention and gripped hold of her heart. A prickling sensation crept down her neck. Something here was not right.

Lailyn hesitated. Just for a brief moment, she hovered on the cusp between cowardice and bravery... and then flicked Fairmane’s reins and turned back to the alley to face whatever it was head on. It did not matter who it was, friend or stranger, foreigner or Rohir. If someone was in trouble, not a single bone in her body could ignore it.

First, she saw a man. She could tell easily enough in the dimming light though his back was turned. He had someone cornered and his fists rained down repeatedly on the figure who was cloaked in shadow and unrecognizable. Who was not fighting back. Was it already too late for them? There was no time to get help; she had seen enough. If no one stepped in, she feared the man would never stop landing blow after voracious blow in his anger until his crumpled victim no longer drew breath. “Someone to accompany you into death,” she heard. Those words confirmed her fears.

"What is going on here?" Lailyn cried out. Her voice echoed down the alley as she approached on horseback. Another woman stood not far away, also poised for action. Her posture was taut with the stress of the scene before her and her presence lent Lailyn a measure of courage and relief.

As her heart hammered in her chest like a pack of horses roaming across a field, she reached back and laid a hand on the hilt of her dagger but did not draw it. Though she hated the weight of the blade pressed against her waist, it offered her peace of mind to know it was there. How lucky that she’d been working to get over her fear and able to hold it again.

The sight of this man beating someone who seemed defenseless rallied her further and Lailyn spoke, emboldened with the need to protect. “You are outnumbered…” She told the man, risking hope the other woman (whom she had yet to recognise from the festival) would be an ally. “Will you still stay and make good on your threats?” She challenged him as her grip on the dagger tightened and she prayed she would not have to use it. If only he would run.

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Dusk in the alleys of Edoras, being accosted by a drunken lout (@Éolath), with @Nia and @Lailyn

A voice echoed through the shadows, then another, closer, accompanied by hoof-beats, but her mind was too fogged by lack of oxygen that she lacked the cognitive activity to recognise it as either friend or foe. The shadows of the night were creeping in at the edge of her vision as her fingers clawed desperately at the broad, strong hands that lifted her off the ground. She raked her feet against him, trying to seek some purchase to ease the strangling grip, but he shifted easily away from her so that her struggling efforts were futile.

The pounding of her heart was irregular now, the screaming wrongness in her head and the burning fire in her lungs slowly giving way to a heavy, full, fuzzy sensation as the blackness creeping into her vision began to swim and flash with colours and light. Her eyes drooped, but some small semblance of tenacious resilience stirred within her now that the initial panic had subsided and the calm of death set in. No. Not death, for she could not die. She knew this now; the demon that had possessed her being some time after her fall in the battlefield would not allow it. But in the darkness of near death, there would be no resistance left to stop it from using her body for it’s every whim. And that... that was something she could not allow. Fragmented and haunted, possessed and broken, but persistent all the same; within her lived on the courage of a loyal Rohir warrior, and before the last shreds of consciousness faded away and delivered her form to the devil within, she would make one last stand.

Her hands loosened from their struggling against his clasping fingers, and her arms dropped, almost in defeat, her body relaxing, savouring what little strength remaining to it. Below his grip and beyond his sight, she drew the blade from where it was hidden up her sleeve; ready for an earlier defence except that the demon within had taken control of her and escalated this to beyond any element of avoidance, so that all she could do now was counter-attack. Her fingers shook against the blade as she used both hands to gently position it at the exact point on his chest that she needed. He stood mercilessly still, his focus only on her defeat, unaware of the threat.

She mouthed a word that in the night only he could read, and then even as his eyes widened - surprise? confusion? fear? - she pressed the blade through cloth and into flesh, piercing straight into his beating heart.

His grip loosed at last and she tumbled to her feet, almost dropping to her knees but for the wall against her back holding her momentarily upright even as he crumpled slowly away from the lethal strike. All the same she turned and tried to step away from him, away from the horse, to escape into the shadows even as her crushed throat and gaping lungs gasped desperately for air. She stumbled through one, maybe two steps at most (if you were generous) and could just see the silhouette of someone drawing near when her legs finally gave way and she collapsed. The bloodied blade clattered against the ground, and the last thing she could remember was desperately willing her numb fingers to reach for it, and the sound of distant, sinister laughter that reverbrated through her head but was unheard in the alleyway. And then there was only blackness.
Last edited by Allacan ob Burzum on Mon Nov 16, 2020 10:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Dusk in the alleys of Edoras (@Allacan ob Burzum @Éolath ), with @Lailyn

“You have a friend,” snarled the bulky man upon hearing Nia’s call, “Someone to accompany you into death.”

Nia could simply not believe what she was hearing and witnessing. But at those words, anger started to bubble through her veins like venom. How dare he. All she had wanted was a pleasant final stroll through the city before nightfall, and now this drunkard – for it was now brazenly apparent from the stench reaching her nostrils, that he had sunk one too many drinks today – was declaring death upon every person he seemed to lay eyes upon.

Anger soon reincarnated itself as fear as the man reached out for the victim’s throat, and began lifting her clean off the ground, the woman caught flailing in his iron grip, reaching for his own neck, but failing to make purchase. Nia knew she must act.

Just at that moment of deliberation, where she was readying herself to pounce on the back of the man, and presumably begin trying to throttle him from behind, Nia caught the unmistakable sound of hooves approaching. "What is going on here?" the newcomer to the scene cried out. Nia found herself strangely relieved that it was the sound of another woman (one she had also not yet recognised from the festival), and someone who was clearly now also poised to join the fray, for Nia has spotted the woman’s hand reach back, presumably to the hilt of a currently concealed weapon. That gave Nia courage, as she too now let her right hand graze, and then grip, the coarse string which was wrapped tightly around the handle of her own knife (for, truth be told, it was more of a knife than a dagger – her decision not to carry a wider array of weapons on her person now appeared reckless and naïve). She turned her head towards the new arrival on horseback, perhaps for a final bout of reassurance, or perhaps to signal her intent to take action, and then drew her knife, wielding it as a dagger.

“There will be no death for us tonight,” Nia shouted, firing herself up as she ran full-pelt at the aggressor, but just at that very moment the woman being strangled fell limp. “No!” Nia gasped, grasping the back of the man’s attire in her left hand, trying to knock him off balance. But then he really did keel over, and it couldn’t possibly have been through Nia’s feeble efforts. A flower of blood blossomed in front of Nia’s eyes as she stared, gobsmacked, at the stab wound to his heart. She couldn’t fathom where the woman (whose identity was still not known to Nia) had found the strength to retaliate whilst mid-strangulation. But before any further thoughts of astonishment could cross her mind, the woman started stumbling away, Nia was about to protest, and reached for her arm, but before she could demand the woman stopped, all life appeared to drain from her body, and she too clattered to the ground at Nia’s feet.

Words failed Nia. There was a dying, if not already dead, man bleeding heavily onto Nia’s left foot, and the lifeless form of his victim crumpled on the floor beside him, arm outstretched towards the lethal weapon. She turned to the only other witness to the chaos, who she only now began to recognise from her venture to the festival earlier in the summer. “I know you,” she said simply, hoping the actual message she wished to convey, which was along the lines of “what on earth do we do now?!” would be heard.

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Dusk on the road outside Edoras
w/ @Allacan ob Burzum @Nia @Lailyn

Voices behind him tickled on the edge of his focused rage, but he did not take his eyes off of the face of the woman in front of him. Blood welled from a scratch on his hand, the iron rich scent nearly as intoxicating as the ale he had consumed. She was going limp now, the spasmodic jerking easing as as her eyes began to glaze. A faint, maniacal smile edged over his lips as he anticipated that final twitching that preceded death.

Instead, he felt a pinprick of pain against the center of his chest. Something pulled against his shoulder, but he refused to look away from the dying woman. He ignored the words of the woman (Nia) behind him, his attention fully captive on his victim. He squeezed harder, digging his fingers deeper into her throat, desperate for that final look of death.

And then, unexpectedly, her eyes cleared and met his. He froze, his own eyes widening in shock that cut through the alcohol and anger. “Sorry...” she whispered.

Sorry.

The word confused him. Why was she apologizing? Even as his mind muddled over that word, a sharp and deadly pain ripped through his chest. He gasped, hands dropping her reflexively to clutch at the wound. He could not even stumble away, or call for help. Instead, he dropped slowly to the ground. Blood poured from beneath his hands, his lungs as empty as hers had been.

Sorry. His mind hazed with the black of death. “Why…” he gasped, turning with the last of his fading strength to look at her, on the ground near him. There was no answer, only death waiting implacably.

And he did not have the strength to fight it.

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Lailyn, Edoras alleys (@Nia, @Allacan ob Burzum @Éolath)
It all happened so fast. Before Lailyn had a chance to react, it was over. One moment, the other woman made a brazen and admirable declaration and rushed forth. The next, there were two slumped bodies lying on the ground of the alley, one of them at the other woman’s feet. But it was not her knife that was bloodied.

Somehow, impossibly, this person who had been close to death had stabbed and killed the would-be murderer. Lailyn practically leapt from her horse’s saddle into motion, fused with new energy after her earlier moments of nervous reluctance.

“I know you.”

Lailyn gazed at the other witness, saw some of her own trepidation reflected back at her, and recognised her at once. “Yes,” she breathed in disbelief, her eyes wide. “Nia. We met at the festival…” She spoke quickly before kneeling down to look at the fallen man.

But it did not take long to realise the wound was fatal; she had seen enough battle to know. Dark crimson crawled and congealed upon his chest and though the smell of alcohol emanated strongly from him, the tangy, metallic scent of blood was ripe and repulsive. The smell, the bloodied knife, the vacant eyes of a lifeless body, they reminded her of too many things, so she averted her gaze and stood up.

“I am no hælend but nothing can help him now,” she mumbled to Nia with regret. He may have attacked someone, tried to kill them, been frightening and vulgar, but she still pitied him.

When she moved toward the other fallen form, her heart was in her throat and she reached out with trembling hands toward them. Now that she was this close, she could see it was a woman. Beneath the blood and welts, the bruises already blooming, Lailyn saw this was a woman she knew. The one who had helped her horse, who was so jovial at the festival, who did not seem to have the strength to fight back against this man... until she did.

She gasped. "Allacan?!" She cried out in recognition though she did not expect a response. The flesh at Allacan's neck felt cool but thrummed with faint life. “Help me,” she urged Nia. “She needs a hælend...”

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@Eléowyn (& others). Sorry I'm still absent. Will catch up with you this weekend :smooch:
- he hath not forgotten Image the face of his fathers -

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