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Nell with Pele, Mourgan and the Guard
Searching for some Freedom
leaving the Great Gate
@Pele Alarion

Nell was pleased to hear Pele laugh and speak of her much needed break. She nudged her mount forward as they passed the guards at the Gate leading out of the city. "No worries, we'll blow the dust off you and Temper." She grinned then noticed Pele looked like she wanted to ask her something. Her question brought a wide smile to Nells face.

"I'd resign my rank of Master Baker if I didn't." She winked and turned to reach into her pack. She seemed to be searching for a specific item among her many in the pack. While doing this she held her tongue at a particular angle, it seemed to help as her hand came out with a linen wrapped item which she held up in victory. "Found it!!" she laughed. Letting the reins rest she unwrapped the prize and revealed small disc shaped objects. "Cookies!!!" She grinned wide. "Something new called Snicker doodle. Cinnamon and other spices. Very tasty, here, try." she held the small stack out for Pele to help herself. "Let me know what you think of course." She leaned in a little to Pele and whispered. "Do you think your guard would like one? It's not against policy is it?"

"It's not against my policy that's for sure." Mourgan piped up not far behind them, hearing her ask Pele despite the whisper. He looked at the Guard. "Can you eat cookies while on duty?" This question earned him a stern stare. "I believe cookies are with in my guide lines." He answered Mourgan as he looked at Nell. She looked at him then Pele and smiled. She waited for Pele to take what she wanted first, she had brought more then enough for everyone then held them out as she slowed her mount. Mourgan took one and then the Guard took one. She moved back to ride beside Pele. "I also brought honey cake if your interested." She gave her a devious grin knowing Pele couldn't resist the sweet cake.

"I'm sure Aggie will find something you can do to be useful," Eryn laughed, though she knew the dairy farmer's wife wouldn't really mind Nal coming by. With Duinion away for a few days, she might be glad for another ranger to temporarily fill his place as watchman... Eryn recalled hearing coyotes some nights ago, before she'd ventured off with Kaylin. Hopefully there had been no trouble with them. But even without that, she'd wager a guess that Aggie would simply set another place at the dinner table, and if Nal insisted on being useful, maybe ask him to carry something or other.

Though she only smiled in answer to her friend, Eryn was in wholehearted agreement with Nal, in the matter of sleeping under the stars having a sort of freedom. There were plenty of times when she was little that she had come outside to sleep by her daddy, especially in those months directly following her mother's death. She'd barely slept inside, for a long while, as some part of her had feared she would lose him as well. Having him nearby was a sort of reassurance that he wasn't going away, but then the time came when he had to return to his duties. And the small girl had been slightly fearful of sleeping outside alone, so she had relented to letting her aunt tuck her into the cozy bed she had set up for Eryn, in her own, new room. Still, Eryn never quite gave up the habit of slipping outside to sleep, on occasion... mostly when her dad was there, so she could stay near him, but once in a while when he was not there as well, to feel as if she were near him. So, sleeping outside under the stars was nothing new to Eryn, as she had proven during that trip to Rohan with Nal and his father.

At Nal's comment, saying he had thought she'd met Kaylin while trying to build experience for the rangers, Eryn merely grinned at him. In such a way, he might consider doubting whether that was not actually what had occurred. But again, she could not discuss things like that freely, here in the city. And so, once the idea of a race had been proposed, Eryn had taken off, but held back slightly to check that Nal would actually race with her. Once he proved willing, she put forth her best efforts, enjoying the speed and exhilaration of running.

(Moving here, but felt like some stuff needed replying to here first)

Time had a way of stealing things from a person, little by little. Youth. Looks. Friends. Family members. Loneliness often threatened to creep into her heart as the old lady thought back on 'the old days'. The days when she used to walk up to the fifth alongside her oldest, and dearest friend, Odessa. When she used to come home to... who knows what. When she and Odessa used to visit one another, and their children would play together.. and later, their grandchildren. When Trevadir and Tobedir, and their friends, used to get up to all sorts of mischief and fun. There used to be never a day that went by that didn't hold some sort of surprise or chaos, as well as laughter and joy... But, as with everything, time had taken most of that from her as well. Only Tobedir remained, for which she was immensely grateful. Yet he was growing up, and she was growing older. He was a less rowdy boy than his brother, and never got up to mischief, now that Trevadir was gone. He was such a good and helpful young man, and Thel couldn't imagine getting along without him.

Sighing as the workday came to a close, Thel packed up her sewing basket, rising slowly from her seat, feeling somewhat stiff after spending her day sewing stitch after stitch. The extravagant, embroidered gown with elaborate beading the customer had ordered was nearly finished; all she lacked was another few feet of hem. It would be finished tomorrow, but the shop was closing and her old hands were aching after so many hours of work. Resting one of these against her aged back, she bent to pick up the basket, straightening even more slowly. Some days, she was tempted to leave it here, at the shop. She would be coming back here tomorrow, after all. But old habits were hard to break, and it wasn't that heavy. She waved and bid a good evening to her boss, the owner of the shop, before setting off on her way toward home. The boutique of high-priced, lavish garments, custom tailored to the buyer, was on the fifth level because this was where folks lived who could afford such expensive clothes. The elderly seamstress never used to mind the long walk, in her younger days, nor even when she and Odessa used to walk together, chatting and gossiping like school girls, sharing what their grandsons had been up to, and so on. These days, however, the walk seemed longer than before.

She didn't go straight home, however. In the last few years, since the war, and just before it, Thel had rekindled an old habit. There was a lovely spot in a little park, here on the fifth level, where one could stand at the wall and see the glimmer of sunlight upon the Anduin, marking the glistening ribbon of water as it flowed past the Harlond harbor, and out beyond Osgiliath and toward the sea. From there, looking in that direction, the old woman could just imagine she could still catch the glint light reflecting off the ocean, many miles away. In her youth, as a young mother, she had been able to spot it without much difficulty, and had often turned her gaze in that direction whilst her son was growing up, page to a knight in Dol Amroth. She had missed him, but knew he was safe, and that it was a great honor for Olthion to have a chance to become a Swan Knight someday. So she had agreed to let her baby boy grow up apart from his family. Time, and battle, had stolen him from her years ago.

Once, Thel used to stand here and wait for her friend to finish up with her own job, in the sixth level, and the two women would walk back down together to their homes on the second level. She used to stand here, wondering what her boy was doing at that moment, so far away. These days, Thel's gaze was turned that way because somewhere, out there on the vast ocean, her oldest grandson roamed, a sailor on a ship somewhere. She wondered what he was doing, now. Where he was, and whether his ship was safe. She only knew that much because of those two lovely, thoughtful girls he had befriended so long ago. Thel was eternally grateful to them both for having the consideration to share what little they knew... that Trevadir had apparently had some sudden inspiration to become a sailor, and while the girls didn't know very much more than that, there had been an implication which led her to understand that her grandson had enlisted himself in the navy of Dol Amroth, or something of the sort. Yet, her letters to him always went unanswered. Daily, she wrote to her prodigal grandson, telling him how she missed him, how much she loved him, and wishing him well, that she prayed for his safety regularly, and other things. Sometimes she included some tidbits of news, things that happened that day, what was going on with his brother, and the like. Yet, in the years since he had up and left, she had not heard a single bit of news in return. It was difficult at times, not to think the worst.

Wiping a silent tear from her eye, Thel sent up another silent prayer that her boy was safe, and that he might someday come home. Why didn't he ever write? Every day that passed without any word from him increased her concerns that much more. Yet she kept on believing, hoping, praying... just as her friend Odessa had done, when her boy, Domanol, ran off and was never heard from again. At least Thel had some idea of where Trevadir had gone.. and why he couldn't write very often. But surely, a sailor must return to harbor sometimes? Why did he not answer her letters then? Didn't they ever come to Harlond harbor, so he could come home for a visit before setting off on his next voyage? Her heart ached for news of him, even just a rumor that he still lived... that nothing tragic had occurred. How well his grandmother knew what sort of dangers he faced. Storms could capsize a ship.. or it could simply be thrown off course and be lost. Lightning could strike the mast, and send the whole thing up in flames. The ship could dash against rocks and be destroyed. Then there were corsairs and worse... she didn't want to think of that possibility.

Resting her folded arms upon the smooth stones of the wall, Thel stood still as the breeze stirred the grayish-white wisps of hair around her face, and her dress swayed around her ankles. "Come home to us, please." She whispered into the air. Dabbing lightly at her eyes with a dainty, lace-edged handkerchief, Thel found herself wishing she still had the strength and energy to travel to Dol Amroth herself, and investigate matters. Perhaps then, she might discover something of the missing young man. But time had stolen much of her strength and energy, as well as everything else. But then, time could also give, rather than take. Perhaps, with enough time, she would one day see her boy come home. Hope was, possibly, the one thing time seemed to give, rather than take, she thought with a sad smile. And she would cling to that hope with all the inner strength remaining to her. So long as she didn't hear anything to the contrary, she could continue to believe he was alive and well, somewhere. Time would not steal that from her.

It was not every man who would follow a person they knew scarce at all into some dark place, with small explanation. Ilisys duly considered that Duinion must be then no less bold or adventurous as she had been given cause to believe. She tilted her head to peruse him though from an altered angle, as the Tirdinen shook his head. The Ehtyar smiled, unrestrainedly.

“Then you ought expect the unexpected,” she concluded lightly, to his complaint, and as though that ought to have been obvious. The Man had instinctively met her in an exchange of more muted speech, which she respected, and recognised the habits of their now mutual creed. Though they were more about her own habitat than his at this moment; not merely because the shop had been purchased in her name. But because she favoured the maze of streets and stone halls more so than the forests and farmland that he called his home. In truth there was no cause to whisper, save that it placed them at a partnership of intrigue and he might trust her more readily if she were cast as his clandestine companion on this little excursion, rather than his commander. Of course there was also every possibility that what she had to introduce him to might be already eaves dropping on them, from the hidden heights of the building.

“You have not the slightest idea,” she repeated what Duinion had concluded, and it sounded more like an agreement than astoundment at his words. She clearly had not taken any offense at his being so confused. For he had proven compliant, for all that. He would be rewarded, and hopefully count it as such. For he was the first to be trialled. He had been named the most likely, the most wanted, to be brought into the secret of what quite was occurring. Little did Duinion realise that there was far the more cause for what was behind the studded door to concern over his reaction, than vice versa.

Sensing a discomfort in the man, Isys whirled the keys within the lock of the door, and then handed the same keys to the Tirdinen. This time though it was her place to knock, rather than his. And when she turned the handle, leaving Duinion with the promise in his hand that she was not seeking to lock him in her quarters .. the Ehtyar inched the door ajar, then encouraged it ever so slightly and ever so slowly to yawn yet wider. Until there was a new shade of darkness staring out of the beyond upon them both.


“The need was that it be you, over anybody else,” she confessed, reaching for a candle, and the means to ignite it, as the man was left to glean what he might from the dark stairs which led up into the first floor. “He said ..”

What whoever she was talking about might have said, the lady never had time to disclose. Turning back to stand behind Duinion at the threshold, Isys raised the candle in her left hand, as her ear caught the thunder of footsteps flying down the staircase. She did not react save to sigh internally, and mourn all the anticipation she might yet have raised. But she could scarcely begrudge the impatience of the silhouette who practically fell down the last step. And then stopped, stunned, before their guest.


Dishevelled were the clothes that wrapped him, and the stink of some countless lands and leagues all amassed into an indistinguishable blend of the wild. The lantern jaw was breeding a shadow over the southernmost part of his face, and the rest of what might have exposed him, was shrouded by darkness still. Until Isys raised up her candle, and cast out a greater finger of illumination. The rest of Gwandhyra’s features came slowly into focus then, the weathered skin that made him look beyond his count of years, the unruly fall of shaggy pitch black hair that crowded his brow, and the same warm brown eyes as his brother and nephew had ever shown to Duinion were finally reflected back from those which had first observed the orphan. If there were any doubt that it was the man he had once known stood, bold as brass, before him, the telltale pommel and grip of the ancient sword, ‘Reaper’, huddled at his haunch and it’s swaddled length swung out behind him as indeed might have a dragon’s tail.

When he spoke, the accent was more mottled with a wide array of unexplained experience than his old friend would remember, but the joy was evident as much as was the amazement about all of Gwandhyra’s features.

“By the Tree,” he gasped, before embarking on a nervous laugh that grew more hearty as he ventured staggered several steps closer. “It’s been a time,” he surmised.








“Indeed, no, sir,” Warder responded plainly but politely for the both men, while his companion watched on, wordlessly. The younger man coughed then though, because he’d recognised a strain about his tone upon hearing himself speak aloud, no doubt due to embarrassment of the silly subterfuge which his errant relation had insisted upon. This sort of thing really was not typical for the former squire who preferred to be upfront about all things. But the Belfalasian could not deny the alarming accounts of quite what had happened when this estranged cousin had been less than careful before. He’d seen firsthand the sorts of damage that could come from the enemy who Gwandhyra was evading. He had decided to cease therefore with open disapproval of the plan, once he had stated for the record, his own disapproval. He would not disobey his employer, regardless .. of his personal opinion.

So, as though clearing his throat to simply better be heard, the servant of Lond Côl enunciated a little more clearly when he next spoke up. “Though the Lady does know to expect our arrival,” the fact of the matter was more confirmation than confrontational and the man ducked his head respectfully before the city official. “Arrangements have been made in advance, to that regard,” he added a little more defensively. As organising that sort of thing had long been within his jurisdiction.

Sorrela had observed by now what had drawn the Lieutenant to support her, in this admission. For even as the younger man of Lond Côl turned to converse with Aderic respectfully, his companion elected to remain very close to the speaker. It was strange to her that it was the younger man, rather than the older who had exchanged words with them, for typically age went hand in hand with the greater authority. The older man here did not look any less hale, or by any means unable to speak for himself. Though as the pair focused about her colleague, the recruit noted what she had been shielded from observing before. That even in this growing dusk, the older man’s face seemed more weathered and, she tried not to stare, bearded.


She had never been to Dol Amroth though, like most, heard the rumours about the southern realm, and the Prince’s alignment with an Elvish strain. Perhaps it was from that line of thought that she was predisposed to expect Men of Dol Amroth to follow the fashion of their leader, and stand beardless as though Immortals. Sorrel frowned, in the time allowed her when both men were focused on her supervisor. She was not sure what exactly it was about the two arrivals, but something struck her as the elder standing overly attentive at the other’s back, defensively almost.

She was glad that Aderic was there, because she might be just tired from the long day. Yet she felt uneasy and could not have said at all why so.


“I shall bid you then good evening,” Warder did not move off but his remark suggested a want to. And although he had not outright asked, a second time, for permission to enter the city proper, the female Guard’s hesitance had all but encouraged him to that effect, as much as his now doing so, made her all the more hesitant to wave him onward.

Unfortunately, she was robbed of the chance to look for her Lieutenant’s aid, all of a sudden.





The niceties at the entrance were so dragging at his patience, that the Elf might have acted so, regardless of the role he had been given. Though he could appreciate the respect that a sentinel ought owe their command, and he’d personally manned the gates of Barad Eithel long enough to be acquainted with the pride in doing so; still the White City was evoking by now some memory of Gondolin, the longer he was forced to endure it close at hand, and all of the problematic pomp and permissions that came of trying to pass through a gate back then, for the sake of liberty, exhumed their ancient frustration behind his arctic blue eyes. This was exactly why he doubted he could ever call a city home again. Rules, regulations, requirements ..

A click of his tongue saw Erfaron take matters into his own hands, and the horse at his lead. The Gate Guard with the greater regalia had taken a step away from his station at one side of the embellished portal. He’d sent words to the two men engaging with his unfledged colleague, but this officer had not yet followed those words over from his assigned post. It was time to ensure that particular vacuum remained between the two sentries.


He had never expected to wear the ancient livery of the House of Mole again. Hatholdir had deliberately left a perfect replica in the rooms he had prepared for his friend’s visit on Tol Noldare, however. And sentimentality had reigned over any actual want to embrace the gesture. Sílûgnir could not deny though that the striking contrast beat something of an impression, the hues of deepest night set against the eerie moon-light fall of the Part-Falmari’s silken hair. The two men at the gate were rolled in so much dust and dirt that did their long journey down from the north due credit. But the Elf had purposefully changed into this ‘costume’ only once they had crossed the northernmost borders of Gondor. His anaemic countenance wore none of the weariness which late night plotting in their camps had afforded his accomplices. He might have stepped right out of legend, to present before these Mortal folk, his stride apparent of his self-importance and his gaze never drawing unto an acknowledgement of all that he was in fact aware of about him.

His splendidly white steed only further completed the dramatic impression, as it’s easy, though saddle-less heft served an abrupt and entirely intentional obstruction. In seconds, Lieutenant Aderic was severed from the novice Sorrela, and the Elf who had directed his animal unto such an inconvenience did not even look to have noticed, or more likely, to have any care.


If any further inspiration was required for the male Guard to draw his attentions upon this impatient arrival, the Elf more than satisfied his role by drawing forth, and without the slightest misgiving, brandishing a gleaming black blade. The weapon was no longer than his forearm, and indeed was easily cast into shadow when squatting in it’s equally ink-stained sheath. Slender as it was sharp, the blade was, beyond being quite unusual for this vicinity, a renowned tool of the House of Mole. Tardur, the metal was named, by it’s metallurgist founder; the heir of Maeglin himself, Hatholdir of Tol Noldare. And it was a gift which Erfaron was far more accustomed to employing, for all that it shamelessly announced him as a remnant of that faction; who had been cast out of all fair-minded society for attempting to murder, amongst others, the great grandsire of the Gondorian Queen, Arwen Evenstar. And also the ancestor of the Gondorian King, Elessar, as it turned out.

When he felt sure that it’s emergence from about his person could not possibly have been missed, Sílûgnir further antagonised any regard for the sentries, as he strode toward the Great Gate, leaving his horse purposely in the Lieutenant’s way, and proceeded to strike curiously at the mithril-encrusted gate of the city, with the pommel of his nefarious blade. Right in front of Aderic, on his side of the ostentatious entrance.

Private with @Ercassie

Expect the unexpected... that seemed a contradiction in terms, really. Yet, he knew generally what she meant. He tried to prepare for just about everything that could be prepared for, yet there were always things which one could not prepare for. Regarding the lady thoughtfully, he gave a slow nod. Everything about this was mystifying, and he was getting the suspicion that she was enjoying keeping him in the dark, both figuratively and literally. "No, none at all," His baffled, whispering reply may have sounded a bit terse, perhaps because this entire thing was beginning to take a toll on him, making him feel a bit on edge. The darkness enveloping them both, the way she refused to divulge any information concerning her reasons for asking him here, the key in her hands... that mysterious door ahead of them. Though it was too dark to see any details about it, still, it looked to him far too much like the door leading to a basement.

Watching her unlock it, then hand the key to him, Duinion found it all the more puzzling to observe her knock on the door. What was all this about? As the door opened, he found his heart racing faster as the darkness within the gap grew and seemed to threaten to stretch out toward them, as if the shadows themselves could snatch the two of them into their depths. Stop being ridiculous, he told himself, yet couldn't help a small twitch of a startled jump, when the lady spoke again beside him. He tore his gaze from the deep shadows before him, staring at her with some slight incredulity. What was that supposed to mean? Did she intend for him to venture into that dark chasm? Such a thing was certainly asking far too much of him, and he would utterly refuse, without some very good reason and an even better light.

"He?" Duinion echoed, his throat slightly dry. He glanced again toward the opening, feeling glad that she had finally chosen to light a candle. Now, he could see that the stairs were going up, not down. That relaxed him slightly, but there were still more questions arising with every passing moment. For he heard, same as she, the steps approaching with great urgency, like someone rushing to attack, perhaps? Who was coming? Duinion stepped back, instinctively, his mind racing as he swiftly trying make some sense of all of this. 'The need was that it be him?' What need? Glancing toward the strange lady beside him, Duinion searched for some sort of clue about what to expect, in her expression, stance..anything. All he could discern was that she did not display any alarm about whomever was approaching, and so tried to make himself relax, as well.

He had not long to wait. The wild-looking figure who emerged from the depths of the shadows might have looked just as stunned to see Duinion as Duinion was confused to see him. As the man came into the candle light, laying eyes upon the two who stood at the opening, Duinion stared back for a long moment, feeling more baffled than ever. Who was this? And then... as the candle raised to illuminate the man better, Duinion's hazel eyes met the brown ones of the supposed "stranger". Startled, his jaw dropped slightly in shock, venturing half a step nearer, even as he heard the words issue from the other's bearded mouth. The voice was a little different.. he had a strange accent, but those eyes.. could it be? It had to be... Duinion would never forget the first time he ever saw those eyes...


People milled about endlessly, unconcerned with anything aside from their own business. The marketplace was at its peak rush hour for business. Wagons and carts rolled past, hurrying along the road, vendors calling out their wares. People of all sorts rushed to and fro. Somewhere off to the side, a fight was on the verge of breaking out over something a merchant was selling, apparently the last one that two or three people all wanted. On the other side of the street there was some dispute between some rough looking customers and a vendor who didn't seem too favorable toward them.

All in all, chaos seemed to be perfectly normal here at this time of day. No one paid any attention to the small boy in ragged, faded, patched clothing a few sizes too big for him. He couldn't have been more than three or four at the most, wandering around lost and frightened amid the crowd rushing this way and that. Once, he'd nearly gotten run over by a wagon, and with a frightened cry, he darted away, only to find himself surrounded by a new sea of strangers, all pushing their way along this way and that. Trying not to fall down, the tiny child couldn't help being swept along for a good distance, all the while trying to find his way to some opening that would allow him some space to breathe and get his bearings. Not that he'd know how to do that, for he was so small he had no idea how to navigate. He couldn't even read.

At last, ducking through the gap between a tall man's legs, Duinion stumbled out from the midst of the swarm of people... and directly into the path of a horse that had been trotting along the road, pulling a cartload of wares. The horse reared as the small child suddenly appeared in front of it, startled almost as much as the little boy. Round hazel eyes stared up in terror at the hooves whirling over him. The man driving the cart yelled for him to get out of the road, but Duinion couldn't move, gripped by fear. He would be trampled for sure!

Suddenly, he felt something crash into him. Or rather, someone. The impact pushed the little boy off his feet, and he felt as if he actually flew through the air toward the curb, safely out of the horse's path, before crashing hard down onto the ground. Alarmed, the boy yelped as his hands and knees became well-acquainted with the sidewalk there, and fought tears as the scraped limbs began to sting. The cart rushed onward, without running him over. Still slightly shaken by it all, little Duinion looked up in wonder at the cause of his brief flight, and escape from certain death. A pair of friendly brown eyes met his gaze, belonging to a boy he'd never seen before. "W-who're you?" The astonished little boy asked of his rescuer...


"Dom..?" Duinion breathed, hardly daring to even hope this might be his closest, and oldest, friend. After all this time, after hearing rumors to indicate he had died, after everything... could it really be true? His eyes had grown round as saucers, staring with a mix of hope and hesitance, fearful to let his hopes raise up, in the fear that it would only be dashed to pieces again in a moment. That the man would say that he was actually another distant relative who merely resembled Domanol. The voice, after all, was different than his friend's. And he did appear slightly more aged than what he would have expected.. Dom was only about three years older than Duinion, after all, less than that even. But still, he couldn't help feeling, deep down in his gut, that perhaps it was him.

Catching sight of the sword hilt at his side, Duinion's heart leapt with joy that he tried hard to restrain. "Could it really be..?" He murmured in wonder. Domanol had left home with that sword, so long ago. Though Duinion was not of their bloodline, he'd know that sword on sight, anywhere. After all the times he and Dom, as boys, had admired the ancient weapon, a cherished Raxëlilta heirloom, he had no doubt of it being the sword that Addhor, Dom's brother, once wielded in the forests of Ithilien. Surely, it must be him? "But you... they-they said you..." He stopped, hesitating. Anyone might have taken the sword from him, of course... or, hadn't there been another just like it, carried by some distant relative of theirs? What if his doubting mind was more trustworthy than his hopeful gut, and this was really just a relative of the Raxëliltas..?

Duinion could bear this uncertainty no longer. Tentatively, almost fearful to do it, in case he was utterly wrong, he stepped closer, reached out, and caught the other man's hand, unless he prevent him. Shifting himself out of the way so that the light from Isys' candle could shine upon the other's hand, Duinion would then turn it over, palm up. If he was right.. if it was truly who he thought it was, the scar would tell. That scar would be nearly impossible to imitate, should anyone be trying to deceive him...


"I bet I can climb higher than you can!" Duinion laughed, grinning as he reached up for the branch above him. It was too nice a day to be cooped up inside, and the fresh air out here in the Pelennor was far better than in the city. The big oak tree was fantastic for climbing, and its branches reached high, high up into the blue sky. Duinion was sure that he could climb much higher than his best friend, who was slightly bigger than him due to being a little older. Besides which, Duinion was a little bit small for his nine years, and therefore lighter. He figured he could surely get up to the higher branches that his friend could not. If he could get high enough, it seemed maybe he could even reach up and touch the fluffy white clouds drifting overhead!

About the time he put his weight on the branch, trying to pull himself into it, a frightful cracking sound made his heart jump into his throat. As fast as the boy could move, he scrambled down from the weak branch threatening to collapse under his weight, but as he did so, his foot slipped from the one beneath him. And with nothing to do but clutch the breaking limb, his whole weight jerked upon it, and the next thing he knew, he was falling with a gasp of fright, crashing past the branches he had previously climbed, closing his eyes to shut out the frightful fall as the ground sped toward him. As if, if he couldn't see how far he was falling, perhaps it would make the landing that much less painful.

And suddenly, his rapid descent came to an abrupt halt as the ground greeted him quite painfully. The branch crashed beside and partly on top of him, but that seemed the least of Duinion's concerns. The breath was knocked out of him, and he felt bruised and battered, like he must have hit every branch on the way down. Groaning, he took a pained little gasp of air and stirred, slowly rolling onto his back. Slowly cracking his eyes open, the boy winced and tried to make sense of why his left hand felt so strange. He held it up to his face, and that was when he beheld the jagged chunk of broken glass, from some long-discarded jug or bottle, embedded in the side of his hand. A jagged gash lay in the skin beneath the glass, stretching from where his pinkie finger joined to his palm, all the way down to his wrist. Eyes widening in shock, the boy stared at the foreign object, then carefully tugged it out, hoping that would make his hand stop feeling strange. With another, sharper gasp upon discovering that this hurt, Duinion watched with a mix of fascination and alarm as the wound first began to fill with a clear liquid, like water, then was quickly followed by bright red blood. And more pain. Throbbing pain far more intense and sharp than any Duinion had felt before. "Dom!" He shouted, suddenly becoming panicked as the blood began to flow, while his friend was probably still finding a safer way down from the tree. "Dom, help!" Gripping his wrist near the base of the wound, he watched worriedly as the blood flowed faster and faster, like it would never stop. It was as if pulling out the glass had opened up a gate to allow the blood to gush out, and to allow the pain to take hold. "Owww... Dom, it hurts!" Involuntary tears had welled up in his eyes, though he was struggling with all his might not to let them spill over...


Beholding the scar that matched his own, Duinion's throat tightened up with emotion, recalling, all in a flash, the times they had shared, good and bad; the shared joy, excitement, and wonder of exploring and camping and swimming... and meals, lots of secrets.. sometimes reprimands from Dom's mother... sometimes even pain, for they had shared even the same wound, on that one particular occasion... his gaze lifted back up to meet those eyes he would never forget, which he'd thought he would never see again, and flung his arms tight around the man who was definitely no stranger. "It is you!" He exclaimed, with an unrestrained laugh of joy, as a look of astonishment took over his face as he stepped back again, though held onto his shoulders, as if fearing to let go, in case he would vanish. "But how? I thought.. we were all led to believe that you.. that you'd died..." He wondered, though he couldn't stop grinning with delight to find those rumors false. "I... I didn't want to believe it, but.. then, you never returned, and... Where have you been all this time?"

Private with @Ercassie

The entire matter seemed highly suspicious. Everything about it. The cloak. The way the older, bearded man was standing so near behind the other. The slight strain and nervousness in the other man's voice. The way they both seemed anxious to be away from the guards. Ric may not have been a lieutenant for very long, but he had been a guard for a few years now, having entered training at the age of sixteen. He was now twenty-one, and still breaking in the new rank bestowed upon him. Yet, he had a 'gut' feeling that something was off here. What exactly was going on, he had no idea, but it was his duty to protect the citizens. If the bearded man was some bandit holding a blade to the other man's back, demanding that he do something against his will... then it was Ric's duty to do something to stop whatever crime might be going on, and attempt to diffuse what could very well be a hostage situation. But it must be handled carefully, in the hope that no one would be harmed in the process.

Keeping calm was often a good way to start, as Ric had come to learn in the past, at least in the city he had previously been stationed. He took a slow breath. "Just a moment, sirs..." He spoke up, his voice calm but firm as he ventured a step nearer. But that was as far as he got. Before he could put forth his request that they reveal any weapons they might be carrying, suddenly, a white horse stormed directly into his path, startling him with its unexpected arrival. Stumbling back a couple of steps, Ric looked up in further astonishment to find a very pale looking elf upon the horse. And not simply an elf... but an elf dressed in garb of the deepest black, without any sort of device. An assassin, perhaps? In the couple of seconds of startled silence that followed, Ric was swiftly trying to make sense of just what was happening.

"Sir..." He found his voice again, after the initial stunned moment had passed. Yet the elf paid him no attention, instead drawing forth a gleaming blade of some black substance, suitably matching his entire outfit. It might have been forged out of the very shadows, if such a thing were possible. And given the tales of magic surrounding elves, it might very well be. His eyes widened upon seeing such a weapon. Then, to Ric's further alarm, the pale elf robed in shadowy hues, leaping from his steed, proceeded to prod at the exquisite Mithril adorning the gate! "Sir," Ric spoke up with a little more assertion than before, approaching a few steps nearer, warily. "I must insist that you stop that at once!"

Honestly, he was quite shocked, and felt very unprepared for such a thing as this, but tried his best to handle it as well as he could. This was definitely not like any sort of situation he had ever expected to encounter. It was very likely that, even if this was only an average elf without military experience(which seemed highly doubtful), he was still sure to be very highly more skilled with his blade than Ric was with his own. After all, they had thousands of years to learn a skill, while humans had only a few short decades within their lifespans. Ric had just under one decade of training, so far. His throat felt dry, understanding quite well what he could be up against here.

This.. this could be dangerous. Very dangerous. And yet, if it was an assassin, he could not let this threat enter the city if there was anything he could do to prevent it. Ric had no idea who an assassin would be targeting, but.. well, they did have a queen of Elven descent, and a king who had recently claimed his rightful place. And who knows that they would not both have an assassin make an attempt on their lives. He forced a slow, deep breath before speaking again. "Please sheath your weapon, and move away from the gate." The lieutenant requested, as calmly as he could manage. Though he didn't draw his sword, he was watching the elf carefully to see how he might react, and let his hand rest lightly on the hilt. Placing himself in such a way so as to physically hinder any attempt that might be made at pushing his way through the gate, Ric still sought to keep everything calm and professional. "Who are you, sir, and what is your business here in Minas Tirith?" He inquired with a frown, half-wondering if the elf would even speak this language.

Lily

"It may not sound like it, but it'll help Thea."

Lily paused and looked at Strawberry and gulped. She slowly nodded, even though she didn't fully understand what the girl was hinting at. However, just by the colour of the girl's hair, it would not be a lie. She could do that at the very least.

"Please.. be careful.." she pleaded quietly, giving the girl's arm a quick squeeze before turning and making her way towards the drying sheets. She had to force herself not to look back once she left Strawberry to it, the hair on the back of her neck itching with curiosity. Instead she took a deep steadying breath and yanked the first sheet down, tears immediately springing to her eyes as she recalled always doing this together with Thea.

"No, it will be alright" she mumbled forcefully under her breath, wiping away a stray tear with her shoulder as she struggled to fold the sheet.

"Hey, need a hand?" The cheery voice made her jump, not having seen Eadith move towards her behind the other sheets.

"Wha? Oh! Yes, please!" Lily chuckled nervously as she let the older girl take two of the corners.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.." Eadith said as they walked in close togather, she handing over the two held corners before taking two new ones.

"Ah no worries, was just daydreaming is all.." Lily replied with an embarassed smile, forcing herself not to look in the direction of the office, hoping that Strawberry would be quick and would leave unnoticed.

Eadith did not seem convinced, but she knew better than to press it, letting the matter drop as they stepped in together again and grabbed the last two corners. Together the two of them made quick work of the remaining sheets and as Lily stooped to pick up one of the heavy baskets, she could not help herself as she looked towards the office.

"No need to worry, the dragon hasn't arrived yet.." Eadith gave Lily a reassuring wink and hauled her basket of sheets off, missing the relief written all over Lily's face.

@Winddancer
The sheets formed perfect walls to hide behind, providing cover as Strawberry made her way across toward the office. Second drawer down, underneath. But where was the real one? She thought back on all the discussion between herself and the other girl, and realized she had only ever said where the fake one was. Maybe the real one would be sitting out in the open? She thought about that, and decided that seemed the most likely. So, then she would just take both of them.

As she reached the office, Strawberry paused and tested the door. It was locked, but that was no trouble for her. Taking out a thin bit of wire, she probed around and in no time heard the lock click, and the door was open. Slipping inside, she paused and thought about her plan a little bit more carefully. She wanted to get the ledgers, but then what? She wasn't sure she ought to give them to the other girl. She was so frightened, she might panic and decide not to even do anything about it. So then, Strawberry would have to ensure that they got into the right hands. And she did have a meeting with that guard to go to, later on... perfect. But then, there was the matter of Thea. She wanted to help her, too. The hungry girl whose only crime was taking two measly coins. Strawberry's opinion of guards was not helped by the fact that they would throw the poor girl in the dungeon for that.

But Irma had not seen Thea take the coins, she had only managed to extract a confession out of the terrified girl. If Thea was as frightened as her friend seemed to be, then she might have confessed even if she were innocent, perhaps simply trying to be cooperative. Strawberry hoped to maybe convince that guard that it was herself who had done the theft, that she had given the coins to Thea, and that the girl, in her frightful state, had been intimidated into confessing. Handing the ledgers over would surely be enough to convince the guards that she had stolen those. She wasn't that worried for herself. He'd already made it clear he needed her help with something... so what would he do, arrest her, and jeopardize whatever he wanted?

After taking a careful look around the office, Strawberry listened, ensuring that the place was abandoned. She swiftly crossed to the desk and tried the second drawer; the bottom one. It was locked, but again, not a problem. The small lock on the drawer was about as simple as the one on the office door, and Strawberry almost rolled her eyes. She opened the drawer and searched the contents. Paper and other junk that she couldn't tell much about. Dropping to one knee, she peered under the drawer, and smiled. There, right where the girl said it would be. Prying the ledger from underneath the drawer, she took a curious peek inside. Not that she recognized anything, but the way it was set up, with columns and numbers and things, she nodded to herself as she saw basically what she was looking for, for the other one. That one went into her pack, carefully slipping it in with her other belongings.

Next she looked through both drawers of the desk, feeling a bit amused that anyone would go through the trouble of even putting a lock on something, if that lock was so easy to pick. At last, she found another similar book in one of the drawers, and took a look inside. More columns and numbers. The other ledger! Grinning, Strawberry slid it down beside the other. So long as she didn't get them mixed up, she should be able to remember which came from under the desk, and which came from inside the locked drawer. Now... for a bit of pilfering. This was nothing new for the thief, and she swiftly went about searching the entire office, grabbing coins or anything else that appeared even remotely valuable, or at least.. things that the woman would probably be very upset to find missing. Still, it didn't seem like enough. Not considering the reign of terror the woman seemed to hold over these girls. What more could she do, though?

The afternoon shift at the laundry was the most arduous and the most hated by all the girls. Even so, the backbreaking work involved did nothing to take Lily's mind off of Strawberry. Constant nervous glances were sent towards both Ms Irma's office, as well as the entrance to ensure the dragon was not on her way in. While it was unlikely to have Ms Irma arrive for the afternoon shift, seeing as she was usually there already, it was by no means unheard of. The horrid woman came and went as and when she pleased.

"What s taking so long.." Lily breathed out softly, another glance sent in the direction of the office as she struggled to lift the heavy bucket out of the well. Not paying attention to what she was doing, eyes on the door to the office, the bucket caught on the lip of the well and spilled the entire content out onto the flagstones.

"Blasted damnation!" She cussed a little too loudly, quickly covering her mouth and looking around to make sure no one heard. It was not unusual to be drenched with water in this line of work, though it did make for an uncomfortable shift when your shoes were flooded. Sighing she sent the bucket back into the well, winding the crank slowly as she sent it down to collect more. She was never going to fill the huge tub they used to soak clothes in overnight if she kept spilling it.

@Winddancer
A thought occurred to Strawberry. A slow smile spread onto her face. "She buys poor quality and cheap soaps, that is filled with lye..." The words from earlier echoed in her memory, along with the memory of the girl's dried out, reddened hands. There must be a stash of that stuff somewhere. Strawberry thought about that for a moment, and remembered seeing another door near this one. Supplies that she didn't want any authorities to check into would surely be kept locked up, right? She decided to risk it, and cracked the door open to peek outside. The only one she saw around, who was in danger of spotting her, was that girl who had helped her get here. The one who already knew she was here. And, as she watched, the girl then had some sort of mishap with the bucket of water. A distraction, perfect timing.

Slipping out of the office, Strawberry checked the other door she had seen. Locked, but another simple one. She was getting plenty of use out of her lockpick today. In no time, she had the door open and stepped inside, immediately fighting a cough as she breathed in the strong smell of various cleaning supplies. Soap being one of the most prominent. She pulled the door closed so no one would notice anything unusual, and then began to explore the storage room. The soap with all the harsh lye in it must surely be kept in here, she just had to figure out what was what. If she had thought in advance about this, she might have asked her 'accomplice' to tell her how to find what she was looking for, but it was too late for that. She didn't want to involve her anymore, and had already told her that she wouldn't need her anymore. Her part was finished. And Strawberry's... was not.

She took some time to look through the various supplies, considering her options. She could pour some sort of soap or something on Irma's chair, or in her desk drawers. But then, she thought... could she perhaps find where the woman lived? How much more wonderful would the vengeance be if she could swap out some of her personal hygiene products for this stuff, and make her experience some of what these poor girls had to endure every day? She grinned at that thought. Yes, that would be much more satisfying. Taking a few different items, she stuffed her bag the rest of the way full before going back to the door. Was it clear? She cracked it open and peeked out, checking to see whether anyone was around, or if it would be a good moment to slip away. How long had she been here? She recalled that she wanted to time her 'escape' to line up with when those gate guards were taking their lunch break. She was sure she hadn't been there an hour, but by the time she got past all the other laundry girls and out to the gates, that much time might have passed.

"Here, let me help you."

Lily jumped enough for Eadith to notice. "Woah easy there, I come in peace.."

Lily chuckled nervously, repositioning her hands so that Eadith could place hers on the crank as well. "Sorry, just thought it was the dragon coming to smack me for dropping the bucket.."

It was not a complete lie, there was some truth to it as Ms Irma was infamous for sneaking up and smacking them if she saw anything untowards. Not that it made her feel any better for lying. Just as she was about to resume the rotation, Lily saw a glimt of Strawberry as she exited the office and disappeared into the supply room and let out a startled squeak.

"Wow, she is really getting to you today, isn't she?" With her back to the supply room, Eadith was blissfully unawares of what was actually making Lily so nervous. Lily mumbled something unintelligible under her breath, relieved when the older girl let it go and buckled down on getting the bucket back up.

@Winddancer
Once satisfied that she could slip out without anyone but the one girl seeing her, Strawberry did just that. She thought about putting a finger to her lips to warn the other girl not to alert anyone, but then.. no, this was one time when she wouldn't mind others seeing her. Then they could confirm that it had been someone else, not one of them, who had robbed the office and supply room. She even pulled the apron from around her head to let her bright red hair show, though she wasn't sure whether she'd be able to hide it again later, when it was time to go through the gates. But she wanted to be seen by someone who would report that a different red haired girl than Thea had been there, in the office, so it was necessary to stop hiding her hair. Everyone would surely know that there was no way it could be Thea, this time. Everyone, including that awful beast they were so afraid of.

Closing the door behind her, Strawberry was less than silent about it, yet also not too obvious about it. She wanted to pretend that she hadn't wanted to be seen, when really she hoped for the opposite.. within reason. So the door closed softly, but with just enough noise to maybe draw the attention of the two girls by the well. Both that door, and the office door, would still be unlocked, however. She could pick a lock open, but had yet to figure out a way to pick it back closed. Oh well. It would only serve to show the woman that someone besides these girls had been the thief. That might help Thea's case a little, too. She smiled slightly to herself at that thought.

As soon as she thought someone might have looked her direction, Strawberry darted toward where the sheets were hanging up, figuring she needn't worry too much about anyone chasing her, no one here anyway. But maybe they would see her. It was risky, of course... she was risking maybe getting too much attention called, and guards being called.. but the thief had taken much bigger risks before, simply for the thrill of it. Why not do it for the sake of helping someone else, instead?

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20
@Karis Ziranphel


Kaylin

She'd stalked away from headquarters, the anger sparking off her boots. Her long and quick strides stopped the anger from building, as it had when she'd needed to stay still. However, her mind kept turning things over and did not allow her feelings to subside as they headed home, a raging redhead and a poised partner.

As they approached their house, Kaylin was already unbuckling the sword from her belt. She held it in hand by the sheath as she stormed through the gate, around the house, to the back. The sword was left against the wall of Thûllir's workroom, more roughly positioned than usual, but not with utter disregard. Her blue-grey eyes fell on the infernal punching bag, still hanging from the beam under the overhang of the workroom. Her anger was silent for now, as she stood in front of the punching bag and stared at it for a long moment. As if she were sizing it up. As if she were thinking of whether it would do her any good. When in truth she was going over what had been said in that meeting one more time. When she was done, her mind simply started over.

Relic was here, still targeting Pele. After all the pain Relic had already inflicted on her friend.

A punch.

Shamara, Relic's accomplice - or servant - or both, had escaped their own dungeons somehow. And no one had officially reported it.

Another punch, with more force behind it.

Isys had known of Shamara's escape. And she had chosen to keep it to herself instead of telling anyone. (Isys' reasons, sound or not, were lost upon Kaylin.) And then the Belfalasian had come across Shamara on the Anduin cruise this past winter, and had done... nothing Kaylin found worthwhile. Stuck some rogue on her, to follow her. The pointlessness (to her mind, at least)!

An angry kick, followed by several punches and another kick. The bag was swinging now.

Half a year ago! Half a year of silence! Nothing said still to Pele, not even after she'd become Captain, while Isys knew very well of her antogonism towards Shamara.

Another punch combination, while Kaylin growled out her frustration. A kick. A knee shot. More punches, faster now.

And then... there was Pele. Pele, who had been threatened by a note from Relic... nine months ago. Nine months where Pele had stayed completely silent. She hadn't breathed a word of any of it to Kaylin.

Her frustration grew into a feeling of utter powerlessness as she thwacked at the punching bag less and less carefully, grunting with every hit now. How was she supposed to help if no one told her anything?! How was she supposed to right the wrong of not capturing Shamara sooner if everyone kept her in the dark?!

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Thûllir Bregedyr
@Arnyn

The walking seemed to have been helping, although Kaylin’s fast and determined stride spoke of still simmering anger. Thûllir didn’t exactly feel like smiling, but he did manage to nod politely to those of their neighbors that looked after them in the street. She blew through the gate ahead of him and headed for the back garden, but he took the time to close and latch the gate after he stepped through, and followed at a slower pace now that they were home.

Rounding the corner, he saw that she had removed her blade already and was throwing bare-handed punches that were solid and jolted the sand-filled bag enough to make it move. Kicks and forceful knee strikes that sent the bag swinging had his eyebrows lifting and then furrowing as he watched her. Anger was definitely there, but the lessening of her control spoke of…pain if he was interpreting her body language right. She wasn’t just operating out of being mad, but out of hurt from something in that meeting.

He hadn’t worn a sword today, with only a simple longknife hanging from the back of his weapons belt. His fingers lingered on the buckle as he debated whether he should remove it, but opted against doing so as he slowly moved past the workroom and circled to come up behind the heavy bag. Only a little over an hour earlier they had been enjoying a peaceful breakfast with sun streaming through the windows and hot coffee. Whatever this news was that had marred the day must be significant. He looked at her a moment and then stepped up to hold the bag, absorbing her blows and keeping it from swinging wildly. His eyes were on her face as he spoke her name quietly. “Kaylin.” He would repeat it if needed to call her out of her reverie.

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20
@Karis Ziranphel


Kaylin

During that meeting she had told herself to keep her anger in check at Relic's presence in the White City.

Thûllir moved to stand behind the bag and hold it, to stop it from swinging. That was helpful.

She had told herself that her anger at Shamara's escape from the dungeons was useless.

She hit the bag again, the pain on the skin of her knuckles secondary to her emotions.

You are among those you can trust, she had thought. You are among those who will work together, she had thought.

The punches came faster again.

At least, she had thought she could trust them. Isys, whom Kaylin didn't know all that well yet, had seemed trustworthy to her. She had seen a strand of mischief in the Belfalasian, and the ability to take a prank with a brave face and no resentment, simply a natural interest in payback. And Isys had been dependable on the mission to the Poros. Kaylin didn't need much more. And of course Kaylin trusted Pele; she had known her for years and Pele had always been kind, understanding and competent, with a surprising proclivity for silly behavior.
But. Evidently neither Isys or Pele had figured they could trust her. Not with Shamara's escape. Not with Relic's note. Now... Isys, Kaylin could handle. Pele... Pele was a blow.

"Kaylin." Thûllir spoke her name quietly. It hardly registered as she gave the bag a kick. And another. And another. "Kaylin." As he repeated her name, in the same quiet tone, it seeped in that Thûllir was addressing her. Kaylin's focus on the bag shifted to his face and her movements stilled, although she kept her training stance for now. He was watching her intently. For a moment, she wondered what he thought of her now. The anger in her veins wanted out - and if Kaylin had anything to say about it, she would opt for sweat, not words. Thûllir, her Ranger, her husband, her heart - he had a way to drag down her walls and make her open up to him. He had done it in the past. Kaylin frowned as she looked at him. This time she could not vent with words, could she? She was not free to speak with him the way she usually would. She had told him she needed to hit things. He had come up with a plan. Why was he interrupting?

"What?" She asked him, the one-word question but a whisper, to keep most of her inner turmoil from seeping into her tone. She was not upset with him and she didn't want to make him feel like she was. Yet the question was short, abrupt.

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Thûllir Bregedyr

It took a few moments and another quiet repetition of her name before he could tell that she heard him and then she stilled to look at him, the strength of her emotions still giving her energy, but not directed at him. He wasn’t sure how to help her move forward, as it seemed to couldn’t tell him directly.

Thûllir was silent for a moment and then tilted his chin at the bag, not letting go of it as he looked at her. “You may not be able to tell me who you see when you hit the bag, but can you tell me why? At least in part? You don’t have to stop the workout until you want to.”

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20


Kaylin

She stayed still for a long moment as she processed his question and weighed her options. It was hard to think what she could and could not say at the moment - the anger was partially clouding her mind. It took her much longer than it usually would to think of an answer that seemed safe enough.

"I..." She thought better of the phrasing she had been about to use and abandoned it. "Some stuff went down, is going down - all of it bad." She shook her head, punching the bag again given his invitation to continue if she wished. And oh, did she wish to. "Very bad, Thûllir." Another punch. "And even then... Caution this, caution that. Instead of more decisive action." A knee kick. "And people don't trust me." A combination, before she stretched her fingers and shook out one hand with another shake of her head.

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Thûllir Bregedyr

Thûllir listened with growing concern as he thought through her words. If very bad things were happening, then most of the group present made sense other than Mourgan…unless it had to do with Pele or others in Mourgan’s family. Granted, he didn’t know much about Ilisys beyond their interactions on the Poros mission, although he did have a tendency since his training to learn all he could about those he knew, and she and Captain Pele had always seemed on friendly terms.

The last words Kaylin spoke after the knee strike to the bag seemed the most important by the way it came out. He didn’t think she would mean Ziran, but the way she shook her head spoke of disbelief, so likely one she knew well. He watched her shake out her fingers and tried to remember if there was ice in the cabinet. “Who doesn’t trust you? Did they say why?”

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Kaylin

She gritted her teeth at his question and kicked the bag twice with her right leg. It was true that answering his question would not detail anything that she was not allowed to share. But it was difficult to get it past her lips for different reasons. Another combination. She was breathing heavily, not having taken enough care with controlling in het current state.

"Pele," she admitted with some hesitation. "Pele doesn't trust me." At Thûllir's question of why, Kaylin huffed. "Ha! Why?" Her movements stilled again at that question, as she tried to think back and remember everything that had been said. So much had been said. And so quickly. "I..." She frowned, remembering some things that had taken the wind out of her saild during the meeting for a bit as well, but then her frown deepened and she pushed it aside.

"Obviously she chose not to trust me. I already knew some of the story, she knows I can take of myself - so there was no need to be afraid for my sake - more afraid of my reactions, I'd venture." She grunted as she kneed the bag. "Ugh! Which I won't have improved by my reactions back there." She continued, mumbling: "And being afraid for herself would be ridiculous. Telling someone wouldn't have lessened or increased any danger."

Kaylin threw one last punch at the bag, growing concerned whether she wasn't going into grey territory as far as sharing information went. She turned to look for Thûllir's other suggestion. Splitting wood with an axe in hand would be a good diversion.

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Thûllir Bregedyr

Her words surprised him, but they also made sense as to why she had reacted the way she did. What could cause Pele not to trust her? Or at least seem to Kaylin as if she didn’t trust her? Something to do with sharing information about her safety, given the mention of danger…

Thûllir let go of the heavy bag when she started looking around, surmising that she would be interested in splitting wood as he had suggested. It would be more productive than punching the bag and easier on her hands. Walking over to the woodshed, he retrieved the splitting axe from where it hung inside the door, and met Kaylin by the stump near the pile of logs waiting to be split. Reversing the handle, he offered it to her.

When she took it, he retrieved a log and set it on the stump for her, and then stood back. All she would need to do was swing. He remained silent for a beat and then ventured quietly. “Something to think on…It is likely different, but did you share with her when the Black Hand letters came?” He couldn’t remember, but knew that she had told him right away. He didn’t think she had shared with others. “Or when you felt you were followed before? Even as a friend and not as Sergeant? Would it have worried her?” It might seem a complete change of topic, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Kaylin

Kaylin curled her fingers around the handle and took the weight of the splitting axe in hand. She watched Thûllir retrieving a log and readying it on the stump. As if he were her anger manager. In her mind, she smiled with some self-mockery, realizing that she had put him in exactly that position.

She got ready to swing and just as she brought the axe up, he started to speak. When the axe came down at the log and the wood split open, he finished his first question about the Black Hand letters. Kaylin froze, a frown on her face. Her mind raced back to the previous summer.

She had not hesitated to show the letters to anyone, not the messenger himself, not Thûllir, not Cadil when he was there as the first note had arrived. But... no, she had not told Pele. At that time, the Rangers of Gondor had been newly formed and Pele had no longer been her Sergeant. And Pele hadn't been involved with the Black Hand other than the incident at that house with Hynneth, which had been a long time before then. Kaylin had gotten a few letters - two or three, but never from a specific person from her past who held a personal vendetta against her. And the letters had not profoundly scared her. Annoyed, yes. Not scared. There had been no need to 'rally her peple', so to speak. That was very different in Pele's case!

At his second question, her frown deepened. No... no, damn it, she hadn't told Pele when she felt she was being followed. But that had simply been a feeling, and she'd only mentioned it to Thûllir because it had been on her mind right then. She'd had nothing tangible, so why tell anyone else? If he had been in Ithilien and she'd had that feeling on the way to meet with Pele, then she would have told Pele about the feeling. Probably.

She swung the axe again, not as hard as when she'd been meaning to split the log, but hard enough to have it stick in the stump. She let go of the handle.
Her blue-grey eyes slowly moved from the stump to Thûllir. "What exactly are you trying to say?" she asked in a low voice, not appreciating him shoving this under her nose. At this rate, she would gladly reconsider his earlier idea to spar with her.

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Thûllir Bregedyr

Thûllir could tell that his questions bugged her, even if he wasn’t sure what she was thinking. Then she buried the axe in the stump and turned to him with the look in her eye that told him she was definitely perturbed, and this time at him. He lifted his hands out to his side with his palms up and open. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Just trying to feel my way forward.” He didn’t shy from her gaze, but neither was he trying to be confrontational.

He turned to pick up another log and offered it to her, although he wasn’t sure if she would take it. It looked more like she was sizing him up for a takedown. “We all process threats differently. You have always been one for direct action and confrontation, and while I love that about you, not everyone operates that way. I don’t know Pele as well, but given what I do know, and the hints I have heard of her past, she is likely to leave things that she personally finds painful until she cannot avoid them anymore. Not duty but personal. I know you trust her, and she trusts you from all the evidence I have seen. But you didn’t run to her when you weren’t absolutely sure about possible threats, or you felt it wasn’t called for. You have training she may not be completely aware of either. Perhaps she had reasons for not sharing with you right away, or first.” He sighed slightly. “Again, I don’t know love, but you sounded more hurt-angry than just mad.”

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Kaylin

He meant well. She could tell.

Ugh.

When he offered another log to her, she didn't reach for it. She maintained eye contact with him and waited for more words, which she knew would come. She would listen. A while. More than wanting to bask in her anger, she wanted to get rid of it. And Thûllir was her best bet. She listened to his words, partly reluctant, partly hopeful.

She did not necessarily like what she heard. She did not fully want to see the logic. She wanted to rebel. She wanted to lash out.
And yet... he was making sense.

Kaylin took the log from him with a huff, right after he said she sounded more hurt-angry than just mad. She removed the axe from the stump to lean against it, placed the log on the stump and then wrapped her hands around the axe's handle like it was a weapon that would see her through battle. Preparing her breathing, she swung. She split the log. "In part, hervenn. But that is not all of it. Not nearly. And I cannot tell you much of the circumstances." Kaylin frowned at the stump. This wasn't nearly as satisfying as the punching bag. Weird. Maybe because she could not swing in more rapid succession. She slowly lowered the splitting axe to lean it once more against the stump.

"The threats are specific individuals. Not an army. Just two people." She gestured with her left hand, frustrated, turning her attention back to Thûllir. "And now I cannot run out and go kick their asses, like with Warren. I know their names, but I have no way of knowing where they are. Coming across one of them would be down to sheer luck, not skill. Even with the use of our training. I can't just GET at them."

"And the thing is," she said, her voice getting more and more heated. "I HAD one of them, Thûllir. I HAD her --" She dropped her hands which had been moving into a position as if she had them around someone's throat, and halted her sentence abruptly. She had been about to say that, one year ago, she'd had her fingers right there, but she had told Thûllir all about that and if she mentioned that, he would surely know who one of these two individuals were. And then it would be easy to guess that the second individual was related to Umbar and human trafficking. And then it was a small step to Pele's story. Thûllir was a smart man. Too smart sometimes. And while Kaylin wanted to tell him, she did not want to betray Pele's trust, now that it had finally been given. Kaylin flicked her left hand up in the air, increasingly frustrated, and paused.

"But I did not follow through," she continued, averting her eyes from him. "I should have followed through, then. And now, even if we find this person, my hands are tied. I am not allowed to end the threat, merely confine it. I would have to leave it be, to let it wait for the next opportunity to slip from our fingers and possibly pose a threat again later. As if nothing was learned."

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Thûllir Bregedyr

He watched and listened as she took the log with a huff and then split it cleanly before speaking. Thûllir’s eyes narrowed slightly as she talked about the feeling of futility and not having a clear and easy target. Only two, and she had almost had the one a year ago…”Hmm.” He hummed his response to that without words. Kicking ass and having a clear target was always more her style. He could see why she would be frustrated, and although he understood the need for some secrecy, he also now had a vague idea of what they might be dealing with, as the only one he remembered her mention tangling with was Shamara, but it could be someone else. His attention returned as she spoke again after her pause to collect her thoughts. Having her hands tied was the key, even if she had never before taken a life within the city outside of open battle.

Thûllir sighed and stepped forward to place a hand on her arm. “Be not too swift to want that end at your hands, hervess. It is frustrating to have threats remerge over and over again, but the weight of acting as judge and executioner is not all that different from the weight you bore after the woman you interrogated. Even when your reason for action is clear, the questions arise in dark nights.” His gaze was serious and held a touch of the weariness that could at times weigh his soul. “So we shall be vigilant, seeking out your threat and confining it. Perhaps appeal to the King for judgment, as he is swifter than other courts and discerning, as we both know. Do not give up hope for justice, even if it is slow. Remember Macardil.” That incident had reinforced his trust in the King’s good leadership, even if he hadn’t been there to see it.

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Kaylin

She looked back at him with an angry frown when he approached to rest his hand on her arm. "I don't care whether it's my hands or anyone else's. Maybe the threat I already could have eliminated..." She hated to admit it, but she could admit it to him. Because he was her husband and because she trusted him implicitly. But also because he had told her about the few times he had taken a life. Reasoned and calculated, his decisions had been - and yet he could not easily put his decisions behind him. Not entirely. "You are right, that might prove more difficult to process than I might like." Shamara hadn't been instrumental to Pele's abduction, after all - she had been tasked with such, yes, but had apparently not followed through, if Kaylin had followed Pele's tale well. But Relic...

"The other threat, however..." She looked into his eyes, her gaze focused and cold. A rare thing for Kaylin. She tended to blaze hot, not cold. It was especially rare that she would not seek to reassure him about his own decisions, as well. "The other threat does not get to barter. There is no question." Not the slightest sliver of doubt. Relic had to die.
"I know the King is just, Thûllir. But if Macardil proves anything, it is that King Elessar is more inclined to mercy."

Kaylin moved her arm abruptly so that Thûllir's hand fell away. "But there can be no mercy for this one. If you are yet another who cannot understand or condone that, that is fine." It wasn't, and she turned away from him to hide that, the fire once again taking over from the ice as her anger at her current powerlessness and the lack of understanding by her peers - and now, so it appeared, her husband - overpowered her icy determination.

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Thûllir Bregedyr

He was accustomed to the burn of Kaylin’s anger, although it was rarely turned on him, but not the cold determination of her look when she spoke of another that was a more deadly threat and deserving of swift justice. The sight of her certainty settled his own mind on that score, although her words which followed pointed to misunderstanding.

When she turned away, Thûllir waited only a heartbeat to speak as calmly as he was able, quiet, but clear enough for her to hear. “I had meant that the King is swift to act to see justice done, although I do agree that he is inclined to mercy.” He shook his head. It concerned him to see her thus, both because of what it meant about her enemy, and that it was so personal at the same time. Her frustration in not being able to act as freely as she would like to was also understandable. “I cannot fully understand, only because I do not know the extent of the danger myself. But if you say this individual is deserving of that condemnation, knowing all the facts, then I trust your judgment Kaylin.” That was indeed enough for him.

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Kaylin

His words of clarification about the King first made her roll her eyes. Thûllir's follow-up, however, gave her pause. It was true, he could not fully understand of course. She wanted to tell him, she really did. But her hands were tied in this, as well. His words of trust made her heart lift for a moment and made her turn back to face him.

Kaylin stood, feet hip-wide apart, with crossed arms, gauging his expression and weighing his words."You trust my judgment," she repeated with narrowed eyes. "And therefore would support me in this?"

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Thûllir Bregedyr

Her turning back towards him in response to his statement eased Thûllir's concern slightly. She was quick to ask for clarification, but he would have done the same.

He looked at her questioning expression and nodded once with a tip of his chin to emphasize his words.“Aye, I will support you, Kaylin.” He knew that whatever the world might see of her, firebrand that she was, she didn’t make such a judgment lightly. Extending an open hand to her, he continued quietly. “Will there be peace between us now, or do you need the sparring?”

Men Thalad Cirbann, Nárië 20

Kaylin

She was closely watching not only the look in his eyes and his expression but also his body language, and found nothing there that contradicted his words. To the contrary, the only clues she got only leant further credence to what he was saying. When he reached out with one hand, and asked a question of his own, Kaylin was torn. Her gaze dropped to his hand.

Half of her wanted to take his hand and draw him into an embrace, and let him cool the flames of her anger further. The other half wanted to keep raging and get her anger out of her system by exhaustion rather than... peace.

Time passed as she tried to make up her mind. And then she thought of what people might make of her temper. What had Pele, Arnyn and Isys made of her anger in that meeting? The thought also brought about two responses: part of her wanted to rebel - they could think whatever they wanted if they didn't feel the need to dig deeper, that was their problem - but another part wanted to rise above. Show them, even though they were not here (so perhaps it was more about Kaylin showing herself), that her temper was just one part of who she was, and that being able to calm herself down without wrecking everything around her, was another.

She swallowed, and nodded slowly. And her hand reached for his.

"Peace."

The Guard had now ceased in demanding for the Elf’s attention, either out of sheer exasperation, or in hope of some explanation in response. Erfaron had no difficulty in understanding the Gondorian; his words, his tone, his stance .. He could not blame the man for being rather annoyed, since that had been the visitor’s goal, so while he did not strike at the elaborate gate again with his tool, neither did he lower his hand. A laboured sigh turned the Elf around to find the Guard, and glance him properly up and down; appraising but halfheartedly so.

“And so, you have insisted,” the Mole agreed, in a tone that teetered about the edge of patronising. It was difficult to hem in the tendency which had so long become habit. “Though there be small cause,” he decided. As though it was in fact his decision. “Indeed your gate now wears such a coat that any tool might manage it very little hurt.”


Noting that the Guard had fingers curling around the hilt of his own blade, Erfaron leant lightly against the obstructive bulk of his horse as though he was in no clear urgency. He had lowered the black blade in doing so, but did not sheathe the weapon, as instructed. Indeed, he pressed the point of it against the index finger of his other hand. Not enough to draw blood, not enough that gravity might take it to the ground.

“My name, sir,” he paused, as though deliberately about the word that the Man had so repeated, “is Erfaron. Sílûgnir.” He pronounced the two words as though they were not related, and paused a moment to judge if the Gondorian’s grasp of Elvish tongues was up to scratch. Was a time, testified by the names of their cities, their streets, even their nation entire had been named in the Elvish language. But many countless generations of Men had come and gone since then, and Erfaron had not been in the south for more than fifteen years regardless. He did not ask for the Guard’s name in return, as it meant naught of consequence to him within these proceedings. “And since you asked so kindly, I have not the smallest interest in entering this Minas Tirith.”


There was no chance or idleness about his use of the word ‘this’. For having seen firsthand the namesake of this Third Age city, Sílûgnir was rather blasé about there even being a second-born watchtower of that same name. Sauron had defiled the first, even temporarily. Did Mortal memory reach back so far ? What did they understand of that they simply sought to copy ? The Mole shook off the memory to return to the point at hand.

“I deem that naught beyond this point would rival, much less exceed, the draw of your front porch here,” he clarified then and tapped at the ornate gate again, though this time with the sharp end of his blade. “I came to see if it were true. That truly this might be .. Mithril, as of old Eregion,” he confessed a somewhat lesser realised ambition. But now that he was here, why not ? It was perhaps the most interesting thing about this entire kingdom . “A bold demonstration,” he indicated the extremely embellished portal. “If you are fortunate, it may even see the wolves from your door,” he supposed thoughtfully.


Then, resuming his full height, Erfaron straightened up, and sheathed the black blade, clearly having done so now, at his leisure, rather than when first instructed to. “If I wished ill upon your people, my axe would serve far better,” he reassured the Gondorian, clearly quite unused to the practice of ‘reassuring’ anyone. “Tell me though, are you set here as a guard for the city, or merely to ensure that nobody steals your expensive gate ?”






They had not managed much in terms of excitement all that day, and it seemed, ironically, that the final hour of the shift would rouse up all at once. Sorrela had caught a glimpse of the very unusual figure who the Lieutenant was engaged with, and tried not to compromise her attention to her own arrivals .. although it was difficult. The two gentlemen at hand seemed still very courteous, the younger almost apologetic to have even bothered her, for all that the elder did not seem any more at ease. He had still spoke not a word, and when the recruit put her eyes upon him, he swiftly took his from any risk of meeting hers. Perhaps it was a gentlemanly thing, to avoid staring at women, at least if these were of the Dor-En-Ernil. The men whom she had worked with, before obtaining this job, would have never refrained from attending notice to a woman. Not that they had ever even acknowledged her as a woman. Not that she even cared .. clearly.

She might have relieved at Aderic’s ‘Just a moment, sirs”, if it had been followed through with any further support. But the Lieutenant clearly had more pressing arrivals to cater to, and so she must do her best not to disappoint him. But what would he have been going to say to her noblemen visitors ? She had no way of knowing.

“I have papers,” Warder offered helpfully, presenting them with the clear heading of the Azrubel insignia, and detailing the very plan he had already outlined to the Guard. His companion ceased rolling his eyes, in the very moment that Sorrela turned to note him. So, she took the papers and perused them briefly, handing them back shortly afterwards with a polite thanks. She was running out of reasons to keep the Men from their continuing into the city, for they had not properly given her cause. And while she was unsure, that was because she had so little experience at reading strangers. She wished that Aderic had not been diverted by his own duty, for he would surely have known what to do next .. But then, the queue behind the pair was already beginning to tut and look uneasy at the wait. The last thing that she wanted was to cause a riot. That was the exact opposite of her new job description.

“Your papers are in order,” she declared thus, without any real need, for certainly she had not been told that any papers were required, for any arrival. But since Aderic was not available to advise her otherwise, she waved them through and turned to the next arrivals eager to get inside the city walls before dark.



Second Circle, sometime later …

They had not made words in all the entirety of time it took to travel to the Second Circle. Having left their horses in lodge at the First Circle, Warder had been tempted to remain there in their company. Not least to check that they were taken care of to his standards. But Gwandhyra could scarcely be entrusted to walk himself even the rest of the way and so together they stayed. The Marketplace was slowing to a close by now: to the time where brooms swept at front steps, and doors were closed, locks bolted, lights were slowly extinguished and silence cloaked the hub of the city. Gwandhyra did not demand his sword back while they walked in full view, even in that emptying street, but every inch of his being was set toward reclaiming what had been from his hand too long. As though he could sense that want beside him, as much as feel the weight of the greatsword beneath his cloak, Warder hastened his stride, so that his errant kin must do likewise.

The Ranger of (most recently) the North .. might have wished to linger and admire now the streets he had not seen for so long. Once only though did he stall, and breathed in deep as though he could consume the sights and the sounds of the white streets, as easy as the smell. But Warder stopped just short of tapping one foot in impatience, and so reluctantly they hastened on.

A curt rap at the door awakened a boarded-up shop but moments later. "Sea may rise,” Warder offered up the ancient adage of his homeland, as though it were some secret password rather than a demonstration of loyalty.

“Sky may fall,” Ilisys answered him, of that same ancient house. Her voice was all that spoke of her behind the peeking entrance. The men though followed where she would secret them. So it was that the man named in the north as Gwandhyra, and to those he had deserted in the south as Domanol Raxëlilta, had finally returned to the streets where he had begun. The first step of all he must now manage was achieved. It started here.

Private with @Ercassie

“And so, you have insisted,”

The elf sounded bored, or perhaps as if he were merely humoring Ric. But he did not demonstrate any intentions of assaulting Ric, much to the Lieutenant's relief, though he didn't relax his guard just yet. The elf then mentioned how very unlikely it would be now, to damage the costly adornments upon the gate, of which Ric knew little. "Perhaps not," he acknowledged, "but just the same, it would be preferable not to attempt it." He declared, slightly hesitant, and quite unwilling, to admit that he knew practically nothing about Mirthril aside from that it was highly valuable and incredibly rare. Before the gate had been given such a lavish 'coat' to wear, the young man had only before caught brief glimpses of the stuff of legend, adorning the helms of the citadel guards. Even as a lieutenant, he had never had access to handle those relics of olden times, so when they put Mithril upon the gate itself, it had been a thing of wonder to behold, and Ric couldn't help feeling protective of it. It was precious and rare, and he certainly did not want any harm to come to it... much less on his watch.

A name was given up, though it meant little to Ric, aside from him trying to commit it to memory, so that he would know what name to write down on his report later. The elf's attitude suggested arrogance, perhaps a hint of contempt, but at least he did not seem hostile. Ric relaxed his hand away from the sword hilt, once it seemed unlikely the elf intended to attack him. It could be a mistake, but he hoped that if he did not appear hostile, there would be no hostility in return. The way Erfaron then spoke of 'this' Minas Tirith, drew some curiosity from the guard. He was referring then, to the first Minas Tirith... and Ric realized of course that it was entirely possible this elf might have once dwelt there. It was a bit mind-boggling to think of the long ages of those folk, and he had to remind himself not to gaze at him with amazement. Carefully keeping his expression neutral, he gave a small nod. "Indeed, sir Sílûgnir. I suppose there may be naught within to draw your interest," He replied softly, thoughtfully. He knew that this city was named after an ancient elven one, but he had, regretfully, missed out on many history lessons which might have involved such things, but he had done his best to add to his knowledge of such things, later on. If it weren't for the situation, and the fact that the elf did not have a welcoming air about him, Ric might have inquired many things about this. But then again, he didn't want to seem like an eager kid, asking tons of questions of the stranger.

"It is truly Mithril," he verified, with the faintest flinch when the elf tapped it with his blade's tip. "It is impressive to behold, isn't it?" The guard added with a brief glance upon the gate, a quick admiration of the thing which he guarded. It seemed perfectly fine, not in the least damaged... not even a tiny scratch, although he didn't relax until he saw the blade sheathed again. Next he cast his glance toward his trainee, trying to get a look to see where Ms. Korsey had gotten to, worrying about those two men that he'd had to leave her to deal with. Were they causing her trouble? Did he need to come to her aid, or did she have things all under control? He didn't like not knowing, but also, he still had to deal with this elf, and preferably with all politeness. It wouldn't be wise to be rude to an elf... who knows if he might not be some close friend of the king and queen, for all Ric knew... or simply just someone he would not like to make an enemy of. In any case, he did not wish to be rude, for the sake of not being rude to anyone.

He managed a faint smile, then, as Erfaron asked whether he was a guard for the city, or the gate. "I am Lieutenant Androllius of the Tower Watch," He answered cordially. "My interest is in guarding all parts of the city, and everything within. This gate here is a part of the city; therefore, it is part of my duty to defend it, if need be." He explained. "Now... if you have no desire to pass through the gate, would you kindly move your horse from the road, so that others wishing to enter may do so?" He requested, as politely as he could. "If it is merely your desire to look upon the gate, you may do so without blocking traffic." He suggested, seeing no reason why a traveler could not admire the gate, for why else would it have been embellished so greatly with such valuable material, if not for people to look upon it and admire it? The only real issue that he could find, was the location of the elf's steed.

When Arnyn opened the gate to Kaylin and Thûllir's residence and knocked on their front door, she was not sure how she would find the other Hyandaner's mood. Not after the way that Kaylin had left headquarters. Although Kaylin had replied favorably to Arnyn's note in which the latter had asked to meet and discuss how they would handle the Amber situation, the redhead's reply had been... neutral. One would suspect that such a reply from a usually jovial person meant that Kaylin was either still angry with what had transpired or that she was still wrapping her mind around it.

It was late morning, a bell or so before noon, and since neither Thûllir nor Kaylin had any duties to fulfil at present - other than Kaylin meeting with Arnyn, obviously - they were both at the house. They both had a book in hand, sitting on opposite ends of the couch, their legs toward one another, but Thûllir was the only one reading attentively. Kaylin, on the other hand, had been on the same page for too long for her to be reading. Instead, she was contemplating on how to behave. Or rather, on whether she would manage to behave at all. Arnyn had seemed alright, based on what she had heard, but during that meeting the Lieutenant had not supported Kaylin's suggestions or views at all. Then again, Arnyn had not hidden anything from Kaylin. They had only met in passing before that meeting, really.

Deeply engrossed in thought, she did not even hear the knock on the door. Thûllir's response was what got her attention, as he moved his legs and put his feet on the ground. Kaylin lowered her book with a questioning frown, and he gestured in the direction of the hall. "The door, hervess" he said quietly.
Her first response was a deep breath. Then Kaylin closed the book. Thûllir beat her to the door, however.
"Good day, Lieutenant. Please, come in." He opened the door further and stepped back to let the officer in.
Kaylin lingered by the door to the living room.

Arnyn nodded. "Good day, Thûllir." Her dark eyes spotted Kaylin. "Good day to both of you."

Kaylin did not reciprocate the saying. "You asked to meet, Lieutenant?"

Mentally, Arnyn frowned. Kaylin's tone wasn't hostile. At least that was something. Outwardly, her expression was unreadable as she stepped into the hall. "I did, yes. Pertaining to the task our Captain set for us. I thought that agreeing on methods of operation was called for. Do you disagree?"

With a shake of her head as Thûllir closed the door behind Arnyn, Kaylin responded. "No. I don't disagree. A plan or at least certain agreements are necessary."
In the natural pause that followed, Thûllir calmly interjected, addressing both his wife and the Lieutenant in equal measure. "I will gladly provide both of you with some drinks. Since I know you may not be able to tell me what this is about, and I respect that entirely, I'll then leave you to talk in peace. But if at any point I can be of service, just let me know."

Kaylin held her peace at first, but Arnyn smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Thûllir. I would appreciate some water." After these words, the redhead sighed lightly and nodded at her husband. Water was fine. "We can talk in the kitchen," Kaylin said, and gestured after Thûllir who was already heading that way.

The two Hyandaner had barely sat down when Thûllir supplied them with two full glasses of water and a pitcher. Arnyn nodded at him. "You are a good host, thank you. And I am sorry that you cannot stay. At least not for the moment." But looking at him now, Arnyn wondered whether she should talk to Pele about including him. Perhaps in a few days or a week or two, once Pele had had time to acclimate to sharing her story with the smaller group. Kaylin and Thûllir lived together, after all, and this was a big secret to keep. They were also both rangers and they had both gone through training that could be... convenient... for this kind of situation. "Perhaps in the near future. Though I can make no promises on behalf of our Captain."

Once Thûllir had excused himself, Kaylin folded her hands on the table. "Amber?"

Arnyn nodded.



***Thûllir's part in this post was cleared with Karis.

“I should of course take your word for it,” Erfaron declared, with a subtle bow of his head that seemed to speak of respect, though he soonafter shattered that same hope. “That it certainly is mithril. After all, you are the expert. It being your gate.” The words were well spoken, although their meaning was drenched in doubts over sarcasm. And perhaps a little envy was at work, that Men should be allowed to possess so rare a marvel as mithril, and he was not. “Though I must say that you might find it preferable to ‘test’ these sorts of things, before the day that some great beast comes to try and bring it down,” the Elf confided, with all the indication of sage counsel, even as he referenced the downfall of the last gate. “Dwarves would tell you that plain iron is ithildin, if they thought for a second that they could get away with it,” he sighed.


It was a surprise that the Guard agreed so rapidly, of there being no good cause within the city worth his particular time. For Sílûgnir had long come to believe all Men of Gondor far more proud of their illustrious little constructs. Perhaps that was an arrogance limited to those very few Men of this realm whom he had met before. The fact of there being an Elvish legend though, a Queen in fact of these mortals now, within the city walls, and clearly of no interest to this Elf .. ought to have been something of a tell. Though clearly his alibi about the gate had convinced this Lieutenant that he was not here to simper over the scion of Imladris, nor seek to assassinate her. He had given up his name (or at least the epesse by which he had been better known on this side of the sea), which was sure reason to get under the Queen’s skin, if she ever heard that he had chanced by her new home.

In the north, his name itself was almost enough for him to be arrested, in suspicion of whatever else might simply occur in this vicinity. But it had been a long time since he had been this far south and, particularly where Mortals were around, he could outlive any grudge that he incited. Circumstantial evidence had gnawed at him in the past, in Lindon most recently, and while the inflated reputation did amuse him some, it was not his desire to spend any longer here than he had sworn his oath to. One of his paternal Uncles** had been torn apart by wolves in the First Minas Tirith; for the sake of a Man, of course. They were always at the root of Elvish grievance and where the two races came together, the Elf was always the one who came off worst from the encounter. Sure, the Man usually died, but they were Mortal and so that end was inevitable. No, let her Royal Majesty enjoy the bed she had made for herself. Time would sour it in due course, without any assistance from him. It was incredible that he had allowed Harion to talk him into granting even this much aid. But since he was passing anyway ..


The Guard now wore a face rather expectant and, having lost himself to his own musings, Erfaron was forced to sift through what had been said recently, that might matter. Ah, that must be it; a complaint over the horse.

“It might seem then as though the horse is doing your job for you,” the Mole raised an eyebrow to meet the Lieutenant’s remark about it blocking the gate. “We certainly can not be having that,” he agreed, with each tone placed about the sentence suggesting he did not care if it occurred or not. “Alas, though that he is no more my horse, than I might be considered ‘his’ Elf. He is a sentient being, sir, not some product of property as you people insist on assuming. He agreed to but bear me hither,” Erfaron came as close as he could to not exactly admitting that he had ‘taken’ the horse from someone who surely ‘assumed’ that it belonged to them. Even he rounded to the other side of the magnificent beast from the Guard, persisting throughout in his rant on morality for equestrian rights.“Whether it is his wish to remove himself of your path, you had best ask he, not I ... ”


Having found naught on the far side of the horse, of his companions, Sílûgnir found a smile and so paused, in some no small amount of satisfaction. It had worked, he noted. For the female Guard was busy hearing out a man and woman, each of whom were loudly trying to give up their specific cause for entry to within the city wall, all at once. Behind them, the complaints were growing from impatient tuts to exasperated sighs. The two Men that Erfaron had ‘not’ arrived with had obtained their entry, and sooner or later, depending on Lieutenant Androllius, it could be concluded that the strange Elf had similarly accomplished his ambition, and duly departed: without either announcement or approval to herald his apparently disappearing into the ever more vocal crowd. Dark was nigh upon them, and all waiting wished to be safely within the city walls.

The Lieutenant was left with the prospect of a magnificently stubborn white steed, quite contented to stay some time where he had been abandoned at the Great Gate; and with no clue as to where the horse might have come from, nor where the Elf had now gone. But if the former left the Guard with an inconvenience, at least the latter meant he was rid of that other.



**I should point out that Erfaron's paternal uncle was a Noldo named Orderann, who was (in the AOA rpg) fated to be one of the ten warriors from Nargothrond, who followed King Finrod to aid Beren's quest and were slain in the First Minas Tirith. I am NOT implying here at all that Erfaron was the nephew of the Noldo King Finrod himself, who was also killed at that time/place. Just in case, you might have thought that to be the insinuation. )

Private with @Ercassie


As the elf replied to him, Ric could not help but notice the sarcasm lacing his tone. It would be nearly impossible to miss that. But what he wasn't sure about was the cause for it. Had he said something to give him reason to reply in such a manner? The lieutenant was somewhat puzzled by this, and tried to think of what he had said. Perhaps it had been stupid of him to inform the elf that the stuff was mithril... he probably already knew that, and that would explain why he had replied as he did. Good going, Ric... he probably offended the elf, now. Taking a deep breath, he was careful not to let his expression reflect the inward cringing he was doing, but gave a small bow of his head in reply to the suggestion of testing it. Some reply seemed in order, and he hoped no awkwardness would be noticeable as he spoke again, "I shall mention that idea to my captain. Thank you for the suggestion, sir." He answered in his usual tone, calm and quiet.

The elf did not seem to be finished with his condescending tone, as he then seemed to chide Ric for his calling the horse 'his'. Indeed, the lieutenant had heard some tales that elves were able to commune with horses, and other animals, but had never witnessed such a thing being a fact, nor had he ever 'met' a horse that was actually sentient. Upon learning that this one, apparently, was such, he took another look at the beast, his expression slightly awed, and slightly skeptical, mingled. Was he making it up, or could it be true? Perhaps he was curious whether Ric would fall for such a trick, but then again, perhaps all horses could understand elves, but not men? Ric hesitated as he thought about this, and decided the best thing to do would be to request Sílûgnir to convince the horse to move. "I think it would be best if you-" He began, but trailed off as he looked around and did not see the elf anymore.

How had he slipped away so quickly, without Ric seeing? With a brief flicker of worry, it occurred to him that the elf might have slipped into the city after all, but then a look down the road showed a glimpse of pale hair swiftly vanishing down the road, away from the city, and with some relief the lieutenant concluded that the elf had gone on his way. But he left without the horse? That seemed odd, but then he did mention that the horse didn't belong to him... Ric hoped that meant that the elf and horse had merely met one another somewhere in the wild, and not that the horse was stolen. But now he had another problem. What to do with the horse? Sighing in frustration, Ric noticed that Ms. Korsey was struggling to keep the gate from becoming backed up. He needed to get the large animal out of the way of the traffic, but he wasn't really sure where to put him. If he didn't belong to the elf, did he belong to anyone? And if he had no owner, should they let him go free? It had no saddle, nor halter by which to take hold of it, so it might not have an owner. But then, he didn't think it should just roam freely, as someone else in the Pelennor might decide to capture it, and if it did belong to someone... it would just be a big ordeal. Best to stable it for now, he decided, and once they had made a report, they could let the captain decide further what should be done.

"Come with me, please?" He spoke to the horse, trying to urge him to come off to one side, away from the road. "Come on..." When it showed a complete lack of interest in moving from its spot, Ric sighed. As if the day wasn't long enough already. Rubbing his forehead, the young man took a moment to try and think of antoher plan, then remembered something. He had a carrot tucked into one of his pockets, which he had been going to take to his own horse later when his shift ended. He could forego that, and get another for Lady. But he had no intention of leaving Korsey to handle this gate all alone for any longer than she already had. He would be remiss in his duty if he abandoned a trainee for that long. Therefore, it made the most sense to have her take care of the horse.

Moving toward her, Ric tried to think of the most diplomatic way of handling the stressful situation. "Ms. Korsey, I apologize for that..distraction." He spoke softly, and turned to the folks trying to enter. "Please, have just a little more patience, I apologize for the delay." He turned back to the new guard, lowering his voice. "I believe I can handle the gate from here, if you wouldn't mind taking care of another task?" He dug into the pocket and found the carrot, holding it out to her with a nod toward the horse. "Will you please take this horse to the stables... you may need to use this to lure him... and arrange boarding and care for him? After that, you may consider your shift finished. I'll take care of the reports and see about trying to find out if he has an owner..." He explained, with a small sigh. Their relief should be arriving in about ten to twenty minutes, he estimated, and so it wouldn't hurt anything to let Korsey go home a little early, and Ric figured he could handle the gate until both the fresh guards arrived to take their place for the night shift.

"Do you have any ideas?" Arnyn asked first.

Kaylin frowned. Based on what she had heard before and during that meeting, she would have expected Arnyn to lay out the ground rules for their cooperation, rather than ask her for her opinion on the matter, let alone her ideas. "My ideas?" Kaylin therefore asked, surprised.

Arnyn nodded. "Why, yes. You are clever. Outspoken. I would expect you to have some."

The redhead's frown deepened.

"You do not wish to share them?" The Lieutenant's question came quietly.

Kaylin tilted her chin up. "You were not accepting of my ideas during the meeting in the Captain's office, Lieutenant."

Arnyn calmly looked at Kaylin, sitting across the table. "I will not apologize for not readily supporting suggestions that precipitate murder."

That gave Kaylin pause. She stared at the Lieutenant for a long moment. "My reasons aren't slapdash."

"I never claimed they were."

"Who's to say my current ideas are any different?" Defiance colored Kaylin's tone.

"No one can say, other than you yourself."

Kaylin fell silent. She did not want to revisit her idea of ending Shamara and Relic's lives the minute they were caught. Not because she had changed her mind. No. The rub was that, so far - and if an opportunity were to present itself, no explicit orders barred her from snuffing out Relic's life. Regarding Shamara, her hands were tied. But not regarding the biggest player. And Kaylin wanted to keep it that way. Which meant that she needed to keep the conversation focused on how they would handle Amber as they were trying to figure her out. Not on what they would do if indeed she proved to be that aweful woman.

Meanwhile, Arnyn drank from her water and regarded Kaylin with quiet patience.

The water in front of Kaylin remained untouched. "Pele or you said something about never training her alone. So one of us would be working with her, the other would be watching in secret, whether hidden or training nearby. Right?"

The question elicited a nod from Arnyn. "It would not do to have her see she had two trainers focused on her at once, when the other recruits are not in a similar situation."

"Agreed," Kaylin said. "But who is to say this Amber will not pick up on it? Especially if she does turn out to be Relic."

"We have no guarantees," Arnyn admitted. "We can only try. And hope."

"I prefer working with certainties," Kaylin mumbled. "But that isn't always an option." She sighed. "And what if one of us sees her out and about? Do we follow her, alone? Or do we only act in tandem?" Kaylin already looked displeased with the answer she expected.

That was a good question. One which Arnyn had pondered before coming here. On the one hand, it would be wise to use the opportunity and shadow the recruit. On the other hand, that left either Kaylin or Arnyn without back-up should the need arise for it. Moreover, what if it was Kaylin and she spotted Amber revealing herself as Relic? What would the redheaded Hyandaner do? Would she keep her wits about her? Or would she act rashly, likely putting herself in more danger than was necessary?
The Lieutenant held Kaylin's blue-grey eyes. "We are different in many ways," she spoke genuinely. "Yet in this I believe we are the same. For as long as Pele suspects Amber might be Relic... If I were to spot Amber somewhere and no other duty called me away right then and there, I would want to know what she was up to. And I would follow her." Arnyn gauged Kaylin's expression as she continued.

Leaning back in her chair, Kaylin drew in a deep breath as she returned the Lieutenant's serious gaze. "Yes. So would I."

Arnyn nodded. "Then I will not order you otherwise. Considering the training you have received in the past, your shadow is likely to be less noticeable than my own."

The corner of Kaylin's lips curled up. She appreciated the Lieutenant for saying that. "Likely," was, however, her only response.

They spoke of Amber in detail, agreeing on key points in their cooperation together, rather than Arnyn simply dealing out orders. When it was clear that they had covered just about everything they could, Kaylin gave the Lieutenant an appraising look. "Honestly, Lieutenant, I hadn't thought this would go so smoothly."

Arnyn slanted her head and shrugged one shoulder. "Honestly, neither did I."

Kaylin flashed her a grin. "I also figured you'd be doing more ordering and I would be granted less of a say, perhaps not even an opinion. Given the meeting."

"I don't deem it wise to ignore the input of a ranger who is specifically trained to undertake the task at hand. Even if I had been trained similarly, which I am not, two heads still tend to know more than one. Since we have the time to think and deliberate, which is rarely the case out in the field, why not take that time and use both our heads?" Arnyn's question sounded as rhetorical as it was.

Kaylin nodded. "Well then. I think we have covered as much as we can."

The Lieutenant finished her glass of water. "Have you acquired additional beans?"

"Yes." Kaylin frowned. "You need extra?"

"I could use some."

"Who exactly are you handing them out to, Lieutenant?"

Arnyn smiled faintly. "I do believe that the only one I am required to provide that question with an answer, is the Captain."

The Hyandaner opposite from her, shrugged. "Can't blame me for asking." Meanwhile, she rose and opened one of the kitchen drawers to pull out a box from the far end.

"No," Arnyn agreed, "not at all." Her expression grew thoughtful. "Is that where you keep them? Does Thûllir know?"

Kaylin turned back to the table, sat and pushed the box over to Arnyn while she nodded. "He knows I have been gathering them and keeping them in that box. He knows what they are and what their purpose is. And he knows I want him to carry some at all times. He's no fool, he has concluded this is one of the results of that meeting."

Inspecting the content of the small box, Arnyn held one of the beans up. "Strange to think this can counteract such a violent poison." She draw a small pouch from a pocket and filled it with a number of the beans. "Kaylin, there is something else I would like to discuss."

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Unbeknownst to Kaylin, her responses had left the realm of the neutral and were becoming more polite and open.

Arnyn shifted in her seat, then stilled and gave Kaylin one of her serious, calm looks. "At the meeting, you were displeased that neither Isys nor Pele had confided in you sooner. Although I understand such a response, your reaction to them finally opening up to you could have been better."

Kaylin stared at the Lieutenant, caught off guard that Arnyn would bring up this particular matter. She wasn't sure what to say.

"If you want them to share their feelings and secrets with you, I would advise you to mend what your response has done. It wasn't at all conducive to them opening up to you in the future. It might have the opposite effect. Next time, I believe a more positive response would increase the likelihood of them sharing their worries with you faster."

Kaylin cleared her throat. She felt suddenly much younger, as if she were being berated by her mother. "Mend?"

"Especially with Pele," Arnyn said plainly. "Mutual understanding between the two of you is too important to let things fester beneath the surface. But do not consider this an order. Consider it a suggestion."

The redhead blinked, although she tried to hide it. "Right. I will definitely think on it, Lieutenant..." She did not want to agree too readily, but neither did she want to cast the suggestion aside. In truth, the situation between her and Pele had already been bothering her.

Karis Ziranphel
Two days after Midsummer

A smile hovered on Ziran’s lips as she left the large dwelling in the fifth circle, and she hitched her bag a little higher on her shoulder as she started down the quiet street in the still of the morning. It had been good to take a second day off from duties yesterday, but she needed to hurry home and get properly attired for her tasks of the day. While she was always ready for anything, her current borrowed clothes with their rolled hems and sandaled feet weren’t her preference for training, even if they were nice and cool on a day that was already hinting at the heat that would blanket the city later. It wouldn’t take her long to make her way out to the main street and then down to her cozy cottage on the fourth.

Her brow furrowed as she thought again about what she had glimpsed across the field before the bonfire was lit. There had been no messages at her home yesterday, so hopefully it had been nothing serious. Thus far nothing had marred her enjoyment of the last two days spent in Macardil's company, but thoughts of what could be kept intruding.

Kaylin
Two days after Midsummer

Her visit to the Marketplace had been quick, as it always was - but this time Kaylin was making her way up the circles again very shortly after having made her way down. It was too early in the day to go to a pub, after all. And she had duties to perform later.

The freshly baked bread from Nell's along with some apples and pears were stuffed into the pack slung over her shoulder. Kaylin was humming a song under her breath, caring nought for some of the looks she got from people passing her by. Mostly, people smiled at her anyway.

As she entered the Fifth Circle, she spotted someone she knew. Karis! Kaylin started smiling once she recognized her. A curious frown settled on her face when they got closer and she saw what Karis was wearing. Those dark grey trousers and that linen shirt, those weren't her cousin's clothes. They were too big, especially the shirt, and why on earth would she be wearing sandals with-- Kaylin's eyes widened and her steps slowed as her mouth formed a perfect 'O'.

Oh.

Could it be, though? Could it really?

She wasn't sure what Karis would or wouldn't do when it came to all that. But this looked... interesting. The thought alone was more than enough to have Kaylin grinning broadly by the time they crossed paths.

"Good morning, cousin," Kaylin greeted Karis, unable and quite unwilling to wipe the enormous grin from her face. "A very good morning? By the looks of you? Heading home?" Karis lived on the Fourth Circle, after all, and it was clear enough she wasn't coming down from the barracks or HQ at the Sixth. If Karis had needed a change of clothes there, it would be a uniform or something. Right? And Thûllir's parents lived at the Fourth. At the Fifth, however... Kaylin knew only of one person who lived there that Karis might be coming home from.

Karis Ziranphel
Two days after Midsummer

She hadn’t quite made it to the ramp between the levels when Ziran spotted Kaylin, about the same time the surprised expression appeared on her face, swiftly followed by an enormous grin. Ziran was tempted to close her eyes with a sigh and a laugh, as Macardil had already teased her about borrowing clothes, anticipating just such an encounter, but she pushed away the thought and changed her direction to meet her cousin by marriage. Her own lips turned up in an answering smile at Kaylin’s continued grin.

“Good morning, cousin.” She returned the greeting with a head tilt and then a nod of agreement as faint color touched her cheeks. Yes to all of that. “Aye.” She replied simply. “I need my own gear and boots for the rest of the day.”

She could have left it at that, and not gone on to speak of developments, but a small grin appeared to echo Kaylin’s, and her eyes lit. If it had been anyone else she would likely have said nothing, but who better to tell? Reaching to lay her fingers on Kaylin’s arm, her tone was that of quiet joy. “But yes, it is a good morning. He showed me his home, and has asked me to stay and share life with him.” She breathed a laugh. “The library alone had me wanting to set up residence, but of course it is more than that.” She tilted her head. Yes. “We haven’t discussed details, but when the time comes I would like you and Thûllir to stand with me as witness, Kaylin. If you are willing.”

Kaylin
Two days after Midsummer

Her grin still gained a surprised quality, despite her amusing assumptions. For a moment, a highly amused grin and a look of disbelief warred for top billing as she listened. When Karis laughed and said the library was enough to win her over, the grin gained the upper hand, and when mention was made of standing as witness, the surprise came back into play more fully.

The very next moment, Kaylin's eyes sparkled. "Aaaahh!" She dropped the pack to the cobbles. Karis was pulled into a non-negotiable embrace. "Aaahahaha, YES!" she continued the exclamation as she withdrew from the hug, her hands still on her cousin's shoulders. Kaylin looked Karis in the eyes and shook her head, still grinning broadly.
"And of course!!" she replied, because her earlier 'yes' had had nothing to do with Ziran's question. "You're not kidding, right? Because that would be mean!" She knew that was not Ziran's style, but this gave her something to say other than 'what?!?!'.

"I have a million questions!" Kaylin exclaimed, and she turned back around, clearly planning on walking with Karis as to not keep her but also to learn more while she may. Belatedly, she realized she had left her pack on the street, and turned once again to pick it up, a scattered look about her.

"He showed you his home? What is it like? What is HE like in private? I don't mean, well you know, but just, he's all serious, and I know Thûllir's different in public than when it's just me or close family.
"He asked you to stay? Just like that? You're MOVING IN?"
A thought jumped into her head. "Did he ask you before-- I mean, umh. Did he ask you to 'share life with him' in the earlier evening ooooooor in the morning?"

She suddenly realized she was asking a lot. "Oh. I'm being invasive, aren't I?" she asked, the utter disappointment on her face obvious.

Karis Ziranphel
Two days after Midsummer

Ziran couldn’t help the laughter that spilled out at Kaylin’s enthusiastic reaction and hug. She returned the gesture and then shook her head at Kaylin’s first question. She wasn’t kidding at the request. They were family. The following spill of questions made her laugh, as did Kaylin’s almost leaving her pack behind in her distraction.

Ziran reached to link her arm through Kaylin’s once it was clear Kaylin had decided to walk home with her to her small cottage on the fourth circle. She would just return the favor afterwards, as they both needed to check in today. The gesture wasn’t very characteristic of her, but would keep her cousin close enough that she needn’t raise her voice. She merely bit her lip with an amused grin for several strides before she summoned her voice to answer. “It is okay to ask questions, Kaylin, although I reserve the right to not answer all of them on the street.” Indeed, the questions, excitement, and concern were precisely why she had wanted to share with her. It was a delightful response rather than other potential ones.

Where to start? “As to your last question…both.” She grinned and her dark eyes lit with memory. “He wanted to make sure I knew it wasn't a spur of the moment request.” She cleared her throat. “Macardil’s home here is large and elegant, and beautifully but comfortably set up with lots of light. I was impressed by his choice and the way he has made changes to suit.” How to describe him? “In private…at least with me, he is a bit more relaxed. He is kind. He has a wicked sense of humor, and although he is a bit less proper than in public, he still has a serious side and is quite the gentleman.” Ziran looked over at Kaylin. “He was worth waiting for.” Her descriptions were but a glimpse of the man she had come to know so well over the past several months.

Kaylin
Two days after Midsummer

She couldn't stop grinning when her cousin by marriage linked her arm through hers. It was a rare thing and Kaylin welcomed it. She chuckled when Ziran said she would not answer all of them on the street, but then basically answered all of them anyway.

"Both?" Kaylin grinned. "Good man." Ziran had a captive audience as she continued. Kaylin nodded every so often, trying to get more of a feel for the man Ziran had chosen. Kaylin wanted to respond to some of it, but waited patiently for the other to finish. After the last sentence, joy led her to briefly wrap her free arm around Ziran and pull her close. "Eeeexcellent!" Kaylin exclaimed, her grin best compared to a bucket brimming over with water. "Wonderful news! I'm so glad I ran into you!" Kaylin's gait had a bit of a bounce to it as they continued on their way.

"The serious side and behaving the gentleman is no surprise," she nodded. "I am glad to hear he is a bit more relaxed with you, and kind. A wicked sense of humor, though?" She raised her eyebrows. "Wouldn't have figured that at all!" Kaylin glanced at Ziran's apparel. "And he has nice clothes, too." A laugh.

"You like his home then? There was no discussion as to which home you would choose together? Or did he just assume you would move into his house?" And then her eyes widened. "Hold on. He has a library?" There was amazement in her voice. "Just how large is that place?" Soon followed by more logical questions: "But is he even working? Or does he come from money or something?"

Karis Ziranphel
Two days after Midsummer

Kaylin’s excited energetic response brought another grin to Ziran’s lips, and she nodded when she commented that he had nice clothes. “Mhm.” The next questions amused her, but she realized that it was a new enough conversation with Macardil that they hadn’t yet discussed many details. “Or something, aye.” Ziran shook her head with a wry smile. She thought she had told family some of Macardil’s story, but perhaps that detail was missed. “He has estates near Dol Amroth, as his father was a Swan Knight in service to Imrahil. He has chosen to live and serve here instead, but has not taken up another profession since his dismissal. Not that he needs to as the head of a noble house, but I think he would prefer keeping busy. The home renovation has taken plenty of his energy so far.” Privately she hoped that the business of being noble didn’t add more delay and fences to jump before joining their lives officially. He might not make a big deal about it, but it was still a part of his life that she was less familiar with in general.

Ziran reflected for a few steps on what had and had not been said that morning over breakfast. “As to housing, it is more that I assumed I would move there and offered to add a little more color to the place. We honestly haven’t talked about details or timeline yet. My cottage is cozy for someone living alone, let alone two or more, whereas his home is spacious and comfortable and full of light. Not huge, but comfortably large… I can’t see him living in a small space again when this one suits him so well.” Space to breathe. His time in the dungeons had been long enough, and although her home was far from that, it was still a much more cramped place than Macardil’s lovely house.

They turned down the street toward her lane, and Ziran ducked her head as she remembered another thought from when she had been touring the dwelling. Dark brown hair fell forward to shadow her face. Her voice was a quiet murmur as she added with a more light hearted smile, “Besides, it has room to expand sometime in the future.” She looked over at Kaylin with a bit of a grin.

Kaylin
Two days after Midsummer

Macardil had estates? He was the head of a noble house!?! Karis had mentioned that he had moved here from Dol Amroth, sure, but Kaylin hadn't simply assumed he came from nobility. Perhaps because he acted so differently from most nobles she had seen. In Kaylin's experience, nobles were mostly enigmatic or pedantic, or even downright arrogant. But Macardil? Macardil had make the rangers breakfast at the fortress near the Poros. Breakfast!
Kaylin blinked at the news, and looked in wonder at Karis. She'd never put Karis together with the head of a noble house. Then again, Kaylin realized her image of nobility might not be very accurate. The only noble she more or less liked, Isys, was also the one noble she had most interacted with. Another example of where Kaylin was judging too fast, maybe?

"He doesn't need to work," Kaylin rephrased thoughtfully. "Because he's the head of a noble house." This really did catch her off guard. She recovered quickly enough, however. "Well, Karis. You bagged a big fish then, is what many would say?" Kaylin laughed briefly. "Does that mean you two will get married in Dol Amroth, on his estates? And that there will be a big hoopla? And that you'll be required to get all dolled up?" She felt both sympathetic and amused by such ideas.

Karis' words about not seeing Macardil living in a small space again, made Kaylin realize he probably wanted as few reminders as he could of his time spent in a small prison cell. Yes. With that in mind, as well as Macardil's upbringing, Karis' assumption made perfect sense.

Her cousin's last comment made Kaylin look over at her. "Room to expand," she repeated, a grin blooming on her own face again. "Aye." She had to hold back from saying something that would give away the plans Thûllir and she had themselves, and swallowed the 'I know what you mean' before it passed her lips. "That is in the cards as well?" she asked instead, the joy in her tone unhidden. "Thûllir will be thrilled, cousin," she said more quietly, softly squeezing Karis' arm.

Karis Ziranphel
Two days after Midsummer

A feigned grimace of discomfort washed over Ziran’s features when Kaylin mentioned “bagging” Macardil and then went on to talk about the possibilities of an enormously extravagant wedding, but then she laughed with a shrug and a shake of her head. That was most definitely not her preference, but it remained to be seen what expectations came with such a marriage. She had fallen for Macardil before she ever knew of his familial status, and although she accepted it as a part of him, it was still taking some getting used to. She much preferred Kaylin’s joyous reaction to the possibility of room to expand. “I am glad. I never thought of starting a family before I got to know him, but yes, we are both interested in that at some point.” She paused. “Possibly sooner rather than later, as neither of us is getting younger, but we shall see what happens.”

Ziran grinned at Kaylin as they neared her home. “Twenty years already since I first joined the Rangers. I don’t know much else other than life out in Pinnath Gelin. Can you see me in some fancy house with servants? I am glad Macardil is like none other I’ve known. No intrusions into the home space. At least not here.” She sighed slightly. “His mother seems grounded enough having raised her son here for the most part, and passed that on to him. I’m hoping to avoid a big fuss and long delay, but if that is what he wants…I want to make him happy.”

Kaylin
Two days after Midsummer

She had to bite her tongue not to say anything when Karis elaborated on her and Macardil starting a family down the road. But there was nothing tangible to tell yet. Then again... Thûllir would probably say more than she was saying at this point! And wasn't that kind of ridiculous? Yet the moment passed, and Karis distracted her with an amusing thought.

"No," she replied to Karis' question, laughing. "I cannot see you with servants. You would probably just end up doing the work alongside them, I'd wager." Kaylin laughed again when her cousin-by-marriage said she wanted to avoid a big fuss and a long delay. "Sorry, cousin. But weddings have a way of getting pushed back, even when the parties involved agree to a short betrothal." She glanced at Karis. "Though I am getting the impression Macardil is the kind of man who could probably make it happen on short notice. So he might accommodate you on avoiding that long delay. However..." her eyes twinkled. "If he is the head of a noble house and has estates, in Dol Amroth of all places..." Kaylin shook her head. "I'm afraid that you will be in for a big fuss sooner or later. These people can't decide on what to have for breakfast without throwing a dinner party. I can't imagine what they expect when the head of a household gets married."

She waved casually. "Perhaps when the two of you visit these fancy estates, he can set up a tent for you two in the gardens. Ranger it up. And less chance of nosy servants listening outside your door at night," she teased.

Karis Ziranphel
Two days after Midsummer

Ziran sighed and nodded when Kaylin warned her about the likelihood of a big fuss being made no matter what. She could deal with that if she had to, as it was part and parcel of choosing life with him, but would still prefer to delay the trip to Dol Amroth and not the wedding itself. She was thinking about that when Kaylin mentioned the tent, causing Ziran to snort and elbow her cousin. “A tent! As if that would be any better.” She shook her head and laughed as they reached her cottage.

She looked over at Kaylin and shook her head again with a grin at the things she came up with, and then unlocked her door to swing it open. “Come on in and make yourself comfortable, Kaylin. I just need to change and gear up.” She waved her hand at the large open room that consisted of most of the ground floor. To the right was a cozy couch and stuffed armchair near the fireplace, with a low table between and a braided rug on the floor. To the left was the kitchen space with a small table and cupboards. The stairs to the second floor were directly ahead, and Ziran ran lightly up them.

Once in her room, she swiftly changed into her uniform of black trousers and tall boots with a loose grey shirt covered by another shirt of fine chain and topped with the black tunic bearing the white tree and stars. Knives were tucked away, and she belted on her sword and dagger. Remembering the bundle she had brought with her, she undid it and hung up the clothing with precision. Turning to the go-bag she always kept ready, she added a few additional items of clothing and a pouch of herbs with a few small sundries. She hefted it onto her back and tightened the straps before tucking gloves through her belt, hooking the quiver-bag to her belt over the scabbard, and taking up her bow. One never knew what might be needed on a given day, and she felt the need to be prepared for anything today.

It was only a few minutes from when she ran up the stairs that Ziran descended them again at a more deliberate pace. “Shall we go? We should deliver your groceries before they wilt from the heat, and I am curious as to what has been going on since the Midsummer festivities. I had off yesterday, or I would have reported in earlier. How have you been doing, Kaylin?” All of the questioning had been directed at her on their walk down to her home, and Ziran sought to turn it around a bit as they started back.

Kaylin
Two days after Midsummer

"I'd say the servants are less likely to come out and eavesdrop in an open garden where they're not supposed to be, than in a hallway where they might be passing by to go about their duties," Kaylin said airily. "So yes, of course the tent would be better!" She grinned broadly at Karis. "And in my experience, you don't really need the tent, either."

Laughter was still on her lips when Karis opened the door and invited her in. Kaylin entered and closed the door behind her to take a seat on the couch while Karis ran upstairs. She looked around with a soft smile on her face. Karis Ziranphel was leaving her cottage, which was all about warmth and cosiness, for a large, roomy, airy house on the Fifth Circle, no less... Kaylin shook her head and chuckled quietly. And a visit to noble estates every year or so? Well, at least Karis would have great stories to tell upon her return. And Kaylin greatly enjoyed stories.

Looking up when she heard Karis coming down the stairs, Kaylin nodded. "Yes, we shall go," she said happily, rising from the couch. "Ahh," she said in response to Karis' questioning. "Well, that... those are two questions, each with their own answer. For indeed there is news." They left the cottage and headed back to the main street, going up the Circle this time.

She lowered her voice as they walked amiably together. "One of our Umbarian friends showed up at Midsummer, Karis." Kaylin looked over at her cousin's face and her voice grew even more quiet. "Isys and Arnyn caught Shamara. She is being held in one of the holding rooms below headquarters."

Karis Ziranphel
Two days after Midsummer

“Hmmm.” That was the extent of Ziran’s response to Kaylin saying there was news. It intrigued her, but she remained silent as they left the house and started down the street with easy strides after locking up. Kaylin would answer in her own time. Indeed, she hadn’t expected an answer to her curiosity about what had happened near the bonfire stack until they reached headquarters.

When Kaylin lowered her voice and elaborated on the news, Ziran’s eyes narrowed and then her expression relaxed. Her voice was equally quiet and deceptively casual as she queried. “The two of them did?” She wouldn’t have anticipated that combination, and yet both were alert and capable.

What had Shamara been doing at the festivities? “I do recall that she liked to dance. Perhaps there was more than one draw for her presence.” Ziran looked over at Kaylin and smiled slightly. “I am glad that she was captured and is now secure, yet also glad that I didn’t know yesterday or I would have felt bad taking the day off. Capture is not the end, although I am glad she is secure. How are you feeling about everything?”

Kaylin
Two days after Midsummer

Kaylin nodded. "Apparently. It were Arnyn and Mourgan who appeared with the Umbarian from behind the bonfire, but Arnyn explained that Isys and her contact had played a crucial part in actually locating Shamara and getting to her. But it seems Isys then busied herself with that contact of hers, and Mourgan assisted Arnyn to bring Shamara to Pele."

She fell silent then, and noticed Karis' sideways look. She returned the look, expecting the question that soon came. Taking a moment, the redhead looked back at the street ahead. "Secure, yes." Kaylin had reported in the day before, and had noticed Arnyn had been dressed in a uniform that was brand new, as if she had taken it from the supply closet at headquarters. "It seems to me that Arnyn has hardly left headquarters since. I kept her company part of yesterday and she would not leave. In the end I brought her some food from the mess."

A noisy breath escaped her then. "How do I feel about everything?" She shook her head. "I am pleased Shamara is off the streets once more and cannot now work against Pele. But I don't like her being held, even if it is more reassuring she is at HQ under our watch, rather than at the dungeons where she escaped from before." She shrugged, downplaying how strongly she felt on the matter. "If Relic is as diabolical as Pele suggests... this could all be part of some bigger scheme. Maybe it was the intent to have Shamara captured all along. It seemed too easy."

"So yes. I would still prefer eliminating the threat altogether. Then there would be no need to guard her. And we could focus on the bigger issue." Relic.