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@Arnyn

He waited as she went to gather more arrows. There were definitely plenty to spare. In fact, he was actually getting a bit bored of making arrows, and wondered how much longer before he could go out to the woods to find a length of wood to make his new bow with. If he could help it, he'd like to have the new bow finished by the time he was able to walk again, but then again, it might be difficult to make the bow without being able to use his foot that much. It was something he would find out when he got to that point, he supposed.

Watching Arnyn shoot, Duinion smiled as he saw her beginning to form a circle as well. By the time she had finished, he was grinning, glad to see she had the skill to be able to do that. Eryn was still working on her precision, but getting better. Aside from Rome, there weren't many others that he had a chance to shoot with. "A competition, huh?" He smiled. "That sounds interesting. Can we wait until I have finished my new bow, though?" He would, of course, have to break it in and get used to it, but once he'd done that, he felt that his aim would be a little better. Perhaps it was his imagination, but using this one, which wasn't his, just didn't feel quite right.

---

Glancing up at Kaylin, Eryn shrugged. Sure, she'd learned a few things, but there were so many other things she still had to learn! She'd managed to get her dad to show her a couple of the really simple stuff out of that book Addhor loaned her, but with him being unable to go out to a foresty area, there wasn't very much that he could show her, here at the farm, and it was very difficult to have finally gotten him to agree to teach her, only to have to STILL wait because he couldn't go far from home for a while.

But, hearing her friend mention the incident back in Ithilien, and thank her for what she'd done, Eryn smiled faintly. "I'm not sure thanks is really necessary... I'm just glad I managed to hit it." She answered quietly. "You know, I was shaking so much afterward, I'm a little surprised I managed to hit anything." She let out a little laugh. "But.. yeah. It's over, no need to bring all that up again."

She swung her feet as she listened to Kaylin talk about how she would have learned a lot by the time she was ready to enlist. "I guess so. It's just... frustrating." She sighed. "I mean, I've known since I was like, I dunno... twelve? thirteen? ...that I wanted to be a ranger. You'd think he'd be happy about it, and want to help me learn everything extra well, so he won't have as much to worry about, but instead..." She shrugged. "Anyway. I've thought about asking Nal to teach me some stuff with knives. My father taught him a lot of what he knows, but I'm sure he wouldn't teach me... but Nal would, I bet." She grinned. "What do you think?" She tilted her head. "Perhaps you could help me learn some stuff, too?" She added, hopeful.

“I remember,” Unalmis assured her, as Eryn mentioned the venture to Lossarnach. And he did remember. Literally the first time he had met Eryn she had proudly showed off her homemade bow and arrows, as though she had been assigned to the wagon as his aide, rather as than his responsibility. She had liked it when he referred to her as his ‘sergeant’ though. She had beamed that smile all over her face at once somehow. It had helped her and that had in turn helped him. If only everybody else had been that agreeable. The young Ranger had never been responsible for anything really besides himself until that day. Had thought it was the short straw to be sent away from the fighting. But, as things turned out, it had not been as smooth sailing as he had first imagined it would be. And the concept of protecting his country’s future had come to seem just as important as holding off the enemy, else what were they even fighting for anyway ?

It was like his cousin always said. ‘Sea may rise, sky may fall’. Beleriand had sunk, and Numenor, Arnor had diminished and Gondor had won, lost and reclaimed territories for thousands of years. No matter what happened, they kept on keeping on. Eryn certainly did, he grinned. Relentless.


“Oh its all extremely useful,” Nal relented then, for he couldn’t disagree with his friend’s thoughts about anatomy. “They would not take the time to insist everybody learns it otherwise,” he supposed after a moment’s hesitation. “But they’ll definitely train you ‘again’,” he shook his head slowly, as though the words had not been warning enough. “Again, and then again, and of course again after that too. You don’t suppose that once you learn a thing, then that’s you done for always, do you ? We get refresher training regularly Eryn,” he broke the news a little more lightheartedly than perhaps he ought to have. Given her zeal for the subject. And only hoped, afterwards, that he had not just broken her dearest hopes.

“I mean, they’re learning more about how to heal people all the time, so we keep getting updated. The King himself has no doubt brought a lot of herbs and learning with him out of the north, and as for the Queen ?” Words escaped him as the possibilities that an Elvish sovereign might have upon the concept of healing even mortal hurts. “Beren said that Nessa already started up all that healing of the mind, that we never had before. And that’s all down to traumas experienced by soldiers and a better understanding of spiritual healing. Where do you think all that sort of new thinking has come from ?”


He did not want to discourage his friend, but at the same time, it would do Eryn no good to go into these things blind. That was no doubt exactly what she was trying to avoid, with all of her learning and training and preparing. It was making the young man rather tired even hearing how much his friend was intending to juggle at once of course. The notion of healer training had surely occurred to her as a result of the recent experience though, and she was trying to learn from it, he realised. But expecting to be the equal of a twenty years worth experienced Ranger, in only two years that you were being forced to wait before enlisting ? That was how young aspiring Rangers ended up with stupid injuries before they’d ever enlisted. Like he had ..

“Hey now, I didn’t say stop though, did I ?” Nal added, rather belatedly then, to Eryn’s earlier reaction, which he had not missed. But it was a delicate subject that she clearly felt strongly about. “I was rather more calling you relentless is all,” he teased, though not unkindly. “I mean, don’t shoot me !” he threw his hands up overdramatically "but" ... Hattie seized her opportunity. Taking the young man’s surrender quite literally, the dog leapt at him with all the enthusiasm she was by now becoming known for, and took Unalmis down to the grass. But if there was something he’d been training in since he had been an infant, it was falling. Nal could fall with the best of them, and in doing so, he held onto the dog so that she came down on top of him. Hattie bounced gleefully once on his stomach moments later, before he pushed her playfully off so he could find his feet again. Which took a moment longer than it needed to, because the dog had caught hold by now of the remaining boot which he’d dropped in the cafuffle. Seizing it up, she ran straight toward the farmhouse, brandishing her prize.


“Well, now I guess there’s no denying that we’re arrived,” the Ranger laughed, and stared after the animal, with a small sigh. A shrug later, and he gestured for Eryn to walk the last part of the path with him. Presuming that she would still want to, now that he’d said his piece. He felt quite confident that she was by now mature enough to take it onboard without throwing things at him. Although to be fair, previous experience at his attempts of speaking to girls might in fact have suggested otherwise. In any case, he was more than happy to be spared from the need for persisting. It was hard work being responsible .. not to mention hardly a habit of his. But he felt somehow responsible for Eryn, even now.

A sigh accompanied the Elf into the inn and, from the look it bred about his defined features, seemed likely to bear him right back out again, on principle. There was so .. much .. all happening at once that the other inhabitants might as well have all taken up their chairs and commenced beating him over the head with their inane conversations. Some of them were even singing .. or what they no doubt assumed could fall into that category. He would have attributed it a din. The Man whom he was seeking was not a one he would ever have assumed to find in a place such as this. For all that Anardil was in fact a Man, the son of a sailor in fact, .. he should have stuck out here as a tree in a desert. And the fact that it took at least a minute for the Elf to distinguish him from the rest did nothing to improve Erfaron’s mood.


“I was beginning to think that you might have been arrested,” the Belfalasian admitted, honest as ever, as he stood and motioned for the Elf to join him. Before that new arrival might else have played blissful ignorance and walked out, in a ruse of never having noted his associate. All indication of the Man’s illustrious station had been stifled, and furthermore stowed out of sight, for now he knew there to be cause. In contrast to sneaking a long lost Man of Gondor into .. Gondor. The sorts of shenanigans his errant cousin had fallen into with the Mole were not the sorts of things he was intending to stumble into himself. But neither did he wish to have himself or the respect of the House he represented in any way observed in this rather dubious company. When he had learned that he would be escorting an Elf, one whom had been entangled with his family’s line for centuries uncounted, Warder had been beside himself with excitement. But since meeting Sílûgnir, he was not yet entirely convinced if somebody were not pulling some cruel prank upon him. The tales that the Elf and Gwandhyra had been recounting since Bree had terrified Warder quite what he might have wandered into !

“Not this time,” the Elf glanced further about the native clientele, finding that no eyes were fool enough to turn to meet his head on. Several small groups further huddled their heads close together, but that might have been for anything. The ‘din’ persisted only after a pause to take breath, and the man dragging a dirty cloth across his bar glanced up, and then away with the vacuous expression of a man no longer surprised by anything he saw in here.

“It was not a part of the plan,” Erfaron shrugged. It had been a close call at the South Gate, for all that. Word had clearly come from the Great Gate to the South during the night, and it was only the lack of a horse in his possession which had convinced the South Guard that he could not possibly be the horsethief that they were looking for. That and a rather elaborate speech on how mistaking one Elf for another, not to mention the spreading of rumours at all that Elves stole horses was a crime conducive to revolt against the new Queen and an uprising worthy of Mordor itself. It had been an entertaining morning all in all, but by the end, it was surely only the thought of facing more of the same exhaustive argument, that saw the harangued South Guard finally tell the Elf to leave. And the Elf had heard that tune before and willingly obliged, since it was his intention anyway. Standing aside, Sílûgnir made way now for the sitting man to lead them out, and see them onto the final stage of their trek. The Man though planted himself on his seat, albeit looking very uncomfortable.


“The ‘Serendipity’ will dock at dawn,” Warder announced, assured if almost wary. It was clear that he was anticipating a reaction, and a likely negative one at that. Still, he had worked for some truly unpredictable folks before now, and knew how to manage their affairs. “There are exports from Lond Col to unload, and then we shall board in due exchange, for home.” A small cough indicated that the speech was done.

“Tomorrow,” the Elf realised. It sounded somehow like a challenge and a threat in all that it was just one word.

“I have organised lodgings,” the Belfalasian threw out what he supposed was compensation. Though the Elf looked to receive it as yet further insult.

“Here ?” he offered the Man one last chance. And a slow nod sealed their doom.

“I did not know what sort of situation might be pursuing our arrival, or seeking us out after,” Warder sought to explain his reasoning. And leaned in closer, not unlike the way he’d seen their peers here do, to better share a confidence. “Noone here will speak of having seen .. any of us,” he promised. “Nigh all are here for the self same reason as are we, and most have far more concern over theirselves being found, than caring any about what or why or whom we are here for.”


“There are other ships,” Erfaron shrugged, entirely dismissing the notion of them staying in the establishment over night, or at all.

“With respect, there is a plan.” No sooner had he said so, in rather a desperate hush, Warder knew that all he had in his arsenal was common sense, and it was clear that he was not dealing with someone used to that currency. He cleared his throat, self consciously and glanced about him to gauge if any folk close by them were listening. “There will be no ‘borrowing’ ships or any thing of that like," he amused the Immortal by assuming that the Elf would even humour him. Because if he decided to not .. the Man was not entirely sure what he might do. Whatever was necessary, he supposed, though hoped against experience that it would be all smooth sailing. "Our ship is expected. We are expected. And you ..” he did not have the words that might even convince him that he could convince the Elf to behave. “You are expected,” he surmised, and sat back in his chair, looking rather more unconvinced than insistent.

“You are mistaking me with a Feanorien,” the Mole decided to correct the Belfalasian. “As for stealing, there is no need. I can be very .. convincing ..." He did not smile. His tone dared his company to take him seriously.

“We are not to welcome any unwarranted attention,” Warder set his eyes for safety’s sake within his lap, repeating the sense as he saw it. As though he might wear down one who would certainly outlast his determination. When he met no response though, he raised grey eyes slowly but surprised. “They ask no questions here,” the Belfalasian reiterated. “And we are leaving on the morrow, on the ship that has been chartered, at the time which has been ordained, after sleeping in a room which has already been organised !” The breathlessness was apparent by the time Warder had reached the end of his decree. "You gave your word," he reminded the Elf.


“One .. room ?” Erfaron could not resist from clarifying. As the Man struggled to keep his composure, the Mole picked up the practically untouched pint that was placed as though an alibi in front of the Belfalasian, sniffed it rather disdainfully and returned it, as though it’s very stink offended him. It was the very least of belligerence that he could manage, whilst complying his ally by taking up a seat, finally.

“Would you like a drink of something for yourself ?” the Man enquired. He might have to actually drink whatever swill it was he had in fact bought for himself at this rate. The fact of his now opening up grounds for further dispute hit him only after the damage had been done. But there was in fact no cause.

“How did you get back out of the city, without eyes upon you ?” Erfaron decided to enquire suddenly, Leaning first across the wooden table and then withdrawing to flick a dead fly to the floor, before resuming his position.

“As early as I could this morning, amongst the busy commuting masses,” Warder returned, dropping an octave, almost conspiratorially. Though his expression declared that it might break him to speak an untruth. “They know me anyway. The City Guard know where I come to them from, for what service, and how to find me. They have never found a cause to stop me and I did nothing to alter their opinion this time. But I do not think that we ought to discuss that .. here,” he added pointedly.

“Very well,” the Elf sighed, as though very bored. “I am sure that you can find some other means to entertain me so that I do not seek out some speedier means of our setting off ..” He did not look sure at all, and his companion most certainly was not.

It was with relief that she heard him deny that he had been saying that she ought to be stopped. Eryn smiled, pleased that her friend was still on her side about this whole ranger thing. If only she could convince her father of it, now. She held back a sigh with that thought, and decided that perhaps after he had returned from the mountains, she could try again to get him to teach her stuff about traps and stealth. Especially if there was a chance she might end up going out on another adventure, whether with Kaylin, or Nal, or anyone.

Eryn might have been 'dragging her feet' a bit, to prolong the walk, despite her earlier claiming she ought to hurry. At this rate they were likely to miss supper though, so as Hattie ran on ahead to announce their arrival, she gave up on trying to draw out the trip, even if it was subconsciously. "That does make sense," She agreed with a shrug. "Retraining every year, that is. I guess I'd be quite surprised if you didn't have to, since that's such an important skill." She thought for a moment, and couldn't help wondering when Nal had last done his training... perhaps it might work out where they might do a bit of training together? But then she was likely to be quite distracted, she acknowledged to herself, with a faint blush in her face. Thank goodness for the dark to hide that.

"But," She continued thoughtfully, "I hope to go beyond just..basic knowledge, you know? I mean, I was thinking about how Captain Alarion is a master healer... and captain of the rangers. I figure she probably did something similar, right? And... well, I dunno, I just..." She trailed off, not sure how to really communicate what she was thinking on the matter. Seeing Kaylin with a knife in her back, remembering that panicked walk back to the boat, fearing that her sleepiness meant she was dying or something, and all of that... it had been all the more frightening to Eryn because she didn't know what to do, and she didn't know whether it was a fatal wound, or only a minor one, despite whatever those men at Osgiliath had said. She had barely slept, worrying that her friend might die before the morning came, because she didn't know.

As Hattie snatched Nal's boot and made a run for the house, Eryn withdrew from those thoughts, and smiled. Shaking her head in amusement at Hattie, she glanced at Nal. "We might as well get inside. Maybe if we hurry, we'll make it in time for supper," She laughed. "And perhaps I can make up for skipping the evening chores by cleaning up after we eat." She decided. "And... maybe that'll make them more favorable toward the idea of taking Hattie in," She added thoughtfully. "Let's go." She grinned and then hurried toward the house, though her thoughts were still racing about what to do about the dagger, how she would convince Aggie and Cailon to agree to letting the hyperactive pup live there, and how to integrate healing apprenticeship into her daily schedule.

The Pelennor Fields, Cermië (summer)
@Rillewen


Arnyn

She returned Duinion's grin. "Of course we can wait," she said good-naturedly. "I understand your wish to bring your best game in a show down with your new Lieutenant." Arnyn laughed, at herself more than anything else. She was not entirely sure who would prove the better shot between them, but based on the fact the bow was his primary, she figured he was more likely to best her than the other way around.

Looking at the bow in her hand, she brushed her finger across part of its length as if assessing the weapon or thinking on something. Then she looked back at Duinion. "I should be getting back soon. Would you like me to put this back in the shelter?" She raised the bow slightly to indicate that was what she meant. "In any case I will retrieve our arrows from the target."


Kaylin

She smiled softly at Eryn's words, shaking her head when her younger friend said she wasn't sure thanks was necessary. "It's not about whether you were unafraid or composed or whatever," Kaylin said with a shrug. "Even if you had been wetting your pants, Eryn, the fact of the matter is that you still got me out of a pickle. You decided to help and you managed to help. So thank you." Kaylin made a silly face. "And you better accept it."

Leaning against the fence Eryn was sitting on, Kaylin listened to her friend's troubles. "I guess your father has the overprotective thing down to an art, then." She recognized it, of course, but she'd had the good fortune of moving away from her parents to shed that overprotective cloak. Of course, moving away from them also had the definite downside of hardly seeing them anymore. It wasn't necessarily something she would recommend to anyone.

When Eryn indicated she thought Unalmis would probably teach her some knife skills, Kaylin looked at her somewhat dubiously. And then the question came which Kaylin would have honestly expected to have come sooner than it ultimately had. "Ehhhhh," she replied first, indicating it wasn't an easy situation.

"Honestly, I don't know if I would bet on Nal teaching you just because you are asking." Kaylin shrugged. "He might. I don't know him that well yet. But... you just said that your father taught him a lot of what he knows, and they serve together..." She looked seriously at Eryn. "...we serve together. There is respect there. An unwritten code. Both Nal and I are very aware of Duinion's reluctance and downright refusal most of the time to teach you these things. We know he does not want the life of a ranger for you. It is one thing to disagree with him, but it is another entirely to, where we know he is refusing you, teach you behind his back. He's a brother in arms, Eryn. You simply don't do something like that."

She offered Eryn a faint smile. "I disagree with his decision to keep you from pursuing what you want. You are old enough in my book, and you have a good head on your shoulders. And I would teach you, if you ask it of me, but only on two conditions. First of all, that you tell Duinion beforehand. And second of all, that he does not lose his mind over it and that it does not jeapordize the ability of he and I working together."

@Ercassie
The Siren's Embrace... The place where it had all begun for Trevadir. It was just a few years ago that he had first set foot in the place. And here he was, again. Older now, and hopefully, wiser. He didn't really like it here, but it was the only place he could find to work; as a musician that is. The place was generally pretty suitable for anyone wanting to avoid being seen, so it made it easier for him not to be discovered by anyone who might be searching for him, although he did feel uneasy, knowing that it was a place that his father, and other members of the crew, frequented when they were in Harlond. Every time he gave thought to the name of the place, Trev found himself a little amused by how fitting it was, in a way. That it was here where he had fallen for the same old trick as so many others, which had ended with him being trapped out on a ship, unable to return home. It was here where his life had been changed forever. He realized now that his father's only interest in inviting him to join him was simply for the purpose of adding to his crew. There had been others who were swindled into joining, but in other ways. Trevadir was apparently the only one who had eagerly and knowingly let himself be deceived, without being the least bit drunk, either. And for that he felt like a complete idiot. He knew now that the man he had once called his father was a liar and a swindler... and a very smooth talker.

The lesson had been hard-learned, and was not going to be easy to forget. Nor had it been easy to get away from them, but he was relieved that he was, at last. Though he tried his best to push the hurt out of his heart, it refused to leave entirely. He tried to ignore it, instead focusing on the jovial tune flowing from his flute. Trev was seated in his usual spot, at one end of the bar counter. Someone had decided to sing the words to the tune he was playing, and soon another drunken sailor had joined in. Though his mouth was busy on the flute's mouthpiece, his eyes showed the smile that was there. Music helped him put his troubles out of mind. He enjoyed making music, and he enjoyed it even more when others enjoyed the music with him. For a little while, he was able to forget where he was as he flowed easily through the lively song. He was just a simple musician, providing a bit of entertainment and liveliness to the establishment, not a guy hiding from various folks who wanted him dead.

Until a harsh reminder arrived, in the form of his flute being rudely snatched from his hands. Startled, Trev jumped up. "Hey!" He began, but the protest died the moment he laid eyes on the culprit. He tensed, his dark brown gaze meeting that of the big, muscular, sneering man before him. "Samroth." The last time he'd seen this guy, he'd wanted to kill Trev. He probably still wanted to, and that did not make this meeting a joyful one. He swallowed, a bit nervous to be confronted with one of those who wanted him dead.

"I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to come here, boy," The pirate scoffed. "Rumor has it you've left the crew... and they're all pretty upset with you. I'll bet the captain would be very...interested... in knowing where to find you." He grinned with malicious eagerness at the thought of leading the unhappy captain right to where he might find his 'wayward' son who had, in Dev's point of view, betrayed him. The rest of the crew would be more than happy to retaliate for what he had done, too.

Trev was well aware of all of this, and inwardly cringed at the fact that he'd had little other choice but to hang around this place. He'd meant to be more watchful, but had gotten a bit carried away with his music. "What do you want?" Trev kept his voice low, trying not to draw too much attention to them.

"We've got some unfinished business, you and me," Samroth reminded him, with a rough shove against Trevadir's chest.

Though forced backward a step, Trev didn't let the shove push him any further than that. "We have no business together. And I'm done with all of them too, I want nothing to do with any of your sort... especially the captain." He left out that he would be extremely unwelcome on the ship now, after what he'd done in parting. Not that he wanted to go back. "I'm just trying to earn an honest living, so leave me alone, alright? And give me back my flute." Trev demanded, feeling his temper rising, though he tried to control it.

"No business, huh? How's that fiance of yours? You marry her yet?" Samroth sneered. "I don't see her anywhere around... did you dump her after you were through with her?"

Trev's eyes narrowed, and he took a breath to keep his anger in check. "She's safe." He retorted, gritting his teeth as he spoke in a hushed tone, struggling to keep control of his temper. He was unwilling to say anything more than that about his friend's whereabouts. For one, he didn't exactly know, himself, where Iole was... and he certainly wasn't about to admit that the whole betrothal thing was invented on the spot as a means to try and protect her. "Now give it back."

"I don't think so," Samroth looked at the flute, holding it tauntingly close, as if to tempt Trev to try and reach for it. "I think I'd rather you fight me for it." He smirked.

"I don't want to fight you." Trev informed him quietly, not making a move to grab it, since he knew it was just a trick. He'd fought this man once before, and by some miracle had managed to win... but he knew Samroth didn't consider that fight finished. Trev didn't want to draw his dagger, unwilling to let this to escalate to the point of bloodshed... for either of them. "Give me the flute."

"You want it? Here, take it!" With that, he suddenly swung the instrument toward Trev's head, snarling viciously.

Trev already suspected a move like that, and so the second he saw the man's hand moving to swing, he ducked as fast as he could. Some glasses behind him took the blow in his stead, shattering all over the counter and nearby floor. But he didn't have long to celebrate that small victory, as Samroth was swinging at him again, this time aiming for his ribs. Trev had barely any time to think, and instinctively jerked his torso backward, out of the way, while his arms reached out and together, in a scissor-like motion, catching the man's wrist and hand. The impact of this sent the flute, now a weapon, spinning out of his hand. The metal instrument spun dangerously across the room toward one of the tables. Trev spared a brief glance after it, hoping that no one would get hit by it. He sure didn't want anyone else getting hurt, but he was honestly a lot more worried about himself at the moment.

In that second that he glanced after his flute, Samroth took advantage of the distraction, sending a powerful kick against his chest. Trev didn't see it in time, and took it right in the solar plexus. Eyes rounding, the air was painfully driven from his lungs as he went flying, stumbling backward across the room, after his flute. The young musician crashed heavily against a table, groaning in pain as he collapsed onto the floor soon after. His body instinctively wanted to curl up, but he struggled to try and get back up, despite the agony in his lungs from the kick.

"S-sorry," The young musician gasped, aimed toward whoever happened to be at the table he'd been shoved into. At this rate, it could be the last words he said. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to sit up. It even hurt to move. And Samroth was coming after him, with a dagger in his hand now. The pirate clearly intended to finish this fight for good. The Siren's Embrace.... It could very well be where it all ended for Trevadir.

The dry grass burned his hands where he had collapsed into its indifferent embrace. Accomplice to the sun, which beat yet down upon the back of his head like an avalanche. The climes were more forgiving here than where he came from, but still, he felt as though his whole was slowly shrivelled up into a husk and blown away across the fields.

Perhaps that was what had happened to his captive for the woman was assuredly gone from where he’d left her. Arkadhur had come here of course with plans to finish her, since she'd outlived her use to him. Still he had rather been dreading the actual act of ‘concluding’ his little insurance piece if truth be known. Not that he had grown fond of her at all. Far from it. But his preference was to talk them into suicide. He had done it .. more than once. And if they were so weak of mind that all he had to do was push .. after watching them process the months of stress and worry he had personally heaped upon them .. well, then that was their own fault. In the last moments of their lives, they, not he; they had made that choice that their lives wished to endure no more moments. More than one had even begged, ‘just kill me ..’ before he was finished. But it was he who gave the orders. He who said when. Not the other way around. That woman had not seemed capable of managing her own end, or anything else, without assistance. And this Man’s experience of getting his hands dirty .. was rather more frequently concerned with disposing of the bodies. He was not a murderer if he simply handed them the knife, and then cleaned up afterwards. Was he ?


Clearly not today. The convenience of his captive disappearing in her entirety thus ought to have been a relief. One less thing to get through. He’d certainly made a mess of trying to cut off her fingers, and her ear, .. But when, or how had she gotten herself out of the root cellar ? Where might she even be by now and who exactly might have helped her ? There was no delusion that the daft old woman could ever have accomplished an escape on her own, but he'd not heard of any commotion come out of the city. If Ademar had managed the gaol break by now, then everyone should be fixated on recapturing Shamara, and that meant no one would be looking for him. If the attempt had failed, and certain women had been running off at the mouth .. that meant everyone might be already looking for him. There was no cause to delay. Maybe the authorities had already been here, found the woman, and gone, with her in tow. Maybe they did not expect to find him returned to the scene of the crime.

Ademar had vowed to keep the South Gate, which should ensure him a path that way, if the nefarious Guard was even half as capable as he claimed to be. If the city guard had in fact pulled off the gaol break, and also if he didn’t simply decide to ambush the Umbarian at the gate and win a prize for it to buff up his brother’s uniform some more .. Even then, Ademar would still expect his payment at the gate regardless. For the part the Guard had played, a certain redhaired thief would be expected. And though Arkadhur’s stolen wagon held more than one stolen girl, neither of those was the one that his unwanted associate was hoping for. They would simply assure the means of the Umbarian disappearing ever afterwards. He had been a fool to ever come here. To have ever believed he could ever get even anywhere near close to her ..



Slowly Arkadhur found his feet, took a deep breath. Picking himself up again now, piece by piece from the dirt, the practiced liar shook off his panic as he dusted off the dried mud which still clung to his knees. And decided to think rationally. Rapidly and rationally. Forget what he could not know and did not have, what exactly was at hand that he could still make use of ?

Retracing his steps more warily this time into the root cellar, Arkadhur expected at every moment to hear approaching voices fencing him in from all sides. But there was nothing in sight to support the fear so, as his heartbeat played percussion over a tide of adrenalin, the Umbarian swiftly descended and gathered up the bloodied ropes from where he’d flung them in his shock. That was when he saw it; the dagger. He'd been so surprised before, to find no woman here, so quick to flee out of the hole himself in expecting a trap, that he hadn't noted properly what had been left in her place. Slowly he took up and then turned the small tool over in his hands, fed it out of it’s scabbard to better gauge it’s worth. Was this the means by which his captive had escaped ? But where had it come from, when he certainly had searched her ? And he had never seen it in the cellar when he'd squatted there himself before that. It must be part of the riddle as to how she’d gotten loose. Whoever’s dagger this was, had surely stolen his captive, and probably dropped their weapon in all of the flurry of helping the bleeding woman out of her hole. After all, they had left the bloodied ropes behind as well. Those he coiled into a knot and stowed in his other pocket.

But a closer inspection revealed the message which was scrolled into the dried blood on the floor. Three words. And by Zigur they told a story. 'You'll need this,' it said. In such a bold print of handwriting that could have been written by anyone. But his suspicions were able to narrow the options down to anyone who’d leave behind a clue on purpose. That seriously shortened his list of suspects yet for all that still left more than one possibility.


The Umbarian dropped the weapon on instinct, winced at the clatter that it danced upon the floor, and regarded it then warily as though it might make or break him now. Turning to the exit, he got so far as to let each of his hands find a side of the dark stone staircase, for each of his hands to press against the cold stone walls as though he sought a way out through its impermeable strength. As the rest of his body threatened to flounder, the shaking arms struggled to hold him up. And the longer that he shook, the more ridiculously insane the entire thing now seemed to him. Every single step he took from its source and still the Shadow was tripping him up. His arms shook with the weight of him as his legs buckled beneath him. His head shook as the laughter trickled out of his mouth and escaped him.

Taking breaths thenafter, like they were pills to treat his malady, Arkadhur counted down his assets to see past them towards clarity. The weapon at hand, the promise of the gate, the ... girls in the wagon... the moment passed just like the one before it, just like a spill of sheer moonlight amidst a canopy of otherwise rolling clouds. Pausing only to retrieve the gifted tool of death up from the floor, he scuffed up the paving stones with one boot for good measure, so that the eerie message would now be illegible. Then he walked back out of the cellar, a whole other person. And as though he might stave off now the concept of someone handing him a dagger to end his own life, Arkadhur, thrust that dagger through his belt and paused to retrieve water with his freed hands from a couple of barrels that had been left loitering outside the rubbled hall. The fact that there was scarcely any water within (any of) them, with which to wash his ropes, to dash a cold splash of sense into his face, or well, he’d hardly expected that it would be good to drink .. still. Practically empty .. there was possibility there then, for a whole different use to be found.


With a moment taken to consider the size of the empty barrels, and a swift glance back over his shoulder to the wagon, the Umbarian began to conceive of a plan. Turning a barrel over onto it’s side, he ignored the slosh of the small dregs of stale water that now lapped about inside, and began to roll the first of at least two he would be taking on with him.

The last post was already too long, so I have split this portion into a second separate post. Apologies.




Having fallen afoul of even their inventive attempts to assail the wall, the two young men were forced to resort to the throng of a patiently waiting queue. And so they trudged slowly toward the guarded Southern Gate, Unalmis rather begrudgingly, although he rather suspected that Cadil would be glad of having ‘won’ in the end. And in such a light, his friend was liable to be more willing now to proceed, since they were taking Cadil’s advice on how to get to the proposed destination. Admittedly the more interesting ways were not always the most convenient, and Nal did wish to actually get there before he was expected back on duty in a few days. Even the Ranger was forced to admit that persisting with his latest ‘short cut’ might have ended up taking them longer than if they’d simply followed the herd along the road and waited in their turn.

Now they were still further back in the line to leave the Pelennor, than they might have been without the brief but exciting diversion. Even Unalmis was not impatient enough to cut in front of others, although many might have wished he would. A rousing rendition of a local Gondorian song, was his weapon of choice against boredom, encouraging several agreeable folks to pass their time in the queue by joining in. Others were less than enthused, or maybe just rather surprised and perplexed by the way he replaced the words with his own upon occasion, and they clapped perhaps at the conclusion rather because it was all over. Nonetheless, the unexpected and thankfully short-lived sing-along marked their slow progression along the line, until at last the gate was almost in reach. And unfortunately so was the Guard on duty, allowing 'Aderic' to be recognised by the Ranger who wished very much that he was anybody else.


With a rather audible “Eurgh”, Unalmis pondered on his option of outright foregoing the bother of an encounter. But almost in the same breath, he decided that some jerk he’d used to go to school with would not keep him now from having a fine time with Cadil in Harlond. He hadn’t seen much of his companion since before the war, and was keen to lure the former Ranger back into the military. Not that some time simply spent in amusing themselves with a change of scenery would be an altogether disappointing outcome either.

As the line inevitably brought the pair up to where the City Guard was stood, Unalmis could not think of any valid cause for them to be denied passage. But since using this (now even more) disappointing path had been his friend’s preference, the Ranger was happy to leave Cadil to explain their cause for passing through. With luck, the jerk on duty would not even remember him.







Her tongue was an arid desert, and the roof of her mouth an unreachable canopy. Her teeth seemed somehow too small for her mouth. And she felt both like she might spontaneously vomit and also that she might have done already. Though there was no evidence of this. Legs stretched out before her that did not look like the ones which she had grown and known. The sun had climbed the sky and rained down inescapable warmth upon her bonnet .. Did she even own a bonnet ? Her dark hair baked in its clutch and her eyes could only blink at what she had awakened to. A new wave of pain as the imaginary fissure which was cracking her head into two, deepened its chasm another inch. But when she went to hold it together, her hands would not obey. They remained like cowering mice behind her back.


"Cali," if she was imagining things, then her friend was a welcome improvement on all else that Iole had discovered so far. Was that truly her ? She was hallucinating. Must be. She hadn't seen Cali since they'd each been shipped off for safety out of Minas Tirith. Iole and her parents to Pelargir. Cali to her kin out in dol Amroth. Trev to .. sea .. the last that anyone had heard of him ..

Was she her ? Yeh,” Iole shifted to try and rise and almost only lost her balance. Was she alright ? “No” she groaned, That one was a definite no. She was both yes and no and not herself at all somehow. Had she been run down by an army of pins and needles ?

So many things she wanted to tell her friend. So long they'd been apart. So glad she was now to simply not be here alone, facing this, wherever this was, whatever this was. "I’m glad you’re here,” she managed although the grin broke off into a grimace as her head throbbed anew as she tried to recall quite where ‘here’ might be. “Do you know where ..?” she began, and finished, as another flash of familiarity came into sight.


The man .. she knew that she knew him but could not remember how, nor who he was. They had gone walking. She had been talking .. But that had been what ? Days ago ? It felt like maybe even weeks since she had .. since she remembered anything last. The man had a name, she knew that he had told her; although she could not think of it quite yet. Nothing made sense. But he was coming toward them, rolling a barrel. Again Iole tried to get up, and almost took them both over sideways together in the back of the wagon.

Arkadhur turned the barrel up onto it’s end, a mere metre from the wagon now and patted it once. He wiped the back of one hand then across his brow, seemingly oblivious to how the bloodied ropes swelled like an invasive tumour out of his pocket, a familiar dagger tucked into his belt. The Man raised up a single finger and set it before his lips, with clear intent for them to mark him. And then he set off, selected a second barrel and began rolling that over toward the wagon too.

“Cali ..?” she asked again. Unsure quite what her friend might say to make sense of any of this, but quite keen to cling to the one thing she trusted with any certainty. Her friend. But her friend should not have been here, wherever here was. Should she be here herself ? Where was she ?

@Ercassie

If he had to endure any more of that woman's blubbering, Mar was sure that he would end up killing her just to shut her up. And he wasn't sure yet whether he needed her alive. He was glad to leave her behind in the cave, waiting for him to return with her husband. She'd stay put, because he assured her that it was safe there and that he would bring her husband to her when all was safe. And because he'd blocked off the only exit, for good measure. The foolish woman never once questioned him, and he had to laugh under his breath as he made his way back to the ruins of the farm. One would think she would have learned her lesson about trusting strangers, especially when he actually told her that she ought not... but apparently she was simply too stupid to learn anything. He didn't figure there would be much need to keep her alive in the near future, but he wanted to be sure, first. He'd made the mistake of killing someone prematurely, before, and intended not to make that mistake again.

After investigating the place to ensure that no one had come along in his absence, Mar made his way down into the cellar once more. The loose stone was just where he remembered it. With a little help from his knife, he worked it out and smiled as he held his candle near the hole in the wall, letting the flickering light shine into the dark recess beyond. Years ago, he had hollowed out the dirt on the other side of the stone, to increase the storage capacity of his hiding place. The bundle he had stored there just a few years ago was still there, apparently untouched except by time. Blowing away the particles of dirt that had crumbled down when he removed the stone, Mar reached in and worked the bundle out carefully, laying it on the dirt floor. A vague smile played on his face as he unwrapped the cloth from the weapons. Two daggers, unmatched, yet quite distinctive in looks. He hadn't looked upon them in a long time, and took a moment now to admire his trophies. Yet, it was time now to part with...one of them, he decided. Only one. He took a look at both of them, drawing them out of their sheaths one at a time, and ultimately decided upon the one which was slightly bigger; which had been used in the dominant hand by its previous owner.

It was a pretty thing, as well as very functional. It had certainly served its purpose on that day when he 'acquired' it from its former owner, and he had often thought it was a shame that he couldn't carry it around and use it. Alas, it would have marked him too well as...well, exactly what he was; the one who killed the ranger who used to own these blades. He gave a little snort of amusement at that, but shook his head. Those daggers were well known by a handful of people, and so... he decided it would be amusing, if not useful, to employ that inconvenience to his favor. He didn't like that little stunt the umbarian had pulled on him with the dungeon, even if all had gone smoothly enough. Let this be a sort of revenge, or lesson. It was a shame actually that he couldn't be around to see Arkadhur's face...

Wrapping the other dagger carefully again in the cloth, Mar replaced it and slid the stone back in its place. Just for good measure, he rubbed some dirt in around the creases, and checked that it didn't look as if it had been disturbed. Now, how to get Ark to take this dagger? He gave the matter a little consideration, and a grin spread onto his face as he thought of a way to plant the evidence on the man, without him being able to pinpoint Mar as the one who gave it to him. Without him being able to know for sure where it had come from. Without anyone being able to prove that Ark hadn't had it all along. And without Ark suspecting that it was anything more than him being 'helpful'. It was perfect.

Laying the sheathed dagger carefully in the spot where the woman had been seated, Mar moved some of the bloody ropes and rags over the weapon, to partially conceal it, and then stepped back. Hmm. Something was missing. Ah, yes... he smirked and knelt to the floor again, and used the tip of his own knife to form a short message to his "partner" in literal crime. He wanted the man to know that the dagger was meant for him to use, a better weapon than that which he currently carried. But also... he wanted him to think that Mar was leaving it there to help him, otherwise he might not take the dagger.

His deed done, Mar brushed off all evidence of the place from his clothes, knowing how particular Ric was about his appearance and keeping the uniform neat and clean. He had his last shift at the gate in the morning, so he figured it was about time he set off back to Ric's place to get some sleep so he would be alert for it. And at some point, he expected Ark to venture through the gate, although he wasn't sure what exactly to expect. Whatever it was, Mar wanted to be prepared for him... and whatever trouble he might bring to the gate with him.

@Ercassie


It was a great relief to hear Iole's voice, even if it sounded.. pained. Iole sounded as if she were aching as much as Cali, and the latter could certainly sympathize. Her head felt as if it were cracking open, bit by bit with every painful throb that lanced through it. The pain at the back of her head lingered far longer than she thought was necessary. She wouldn't be surprised to find a huge lump, and a river of blood flowing from her skull. It was probably gushing out, drying into her hair... but she couldn't reach up to find out. Which reminded her... her hands were bound. She had bigger problems to worry about than the pounding headache plaguing her, clouding her thoughts... trying to split her head in two... Focus, she reminded herself, and wriggled her fingers, testing their mobility. Next, she tried twisting her wrists, trying to test the ropes binding her. Could she slip out of them? Perhaps, if she twisted her hands around just right, she could reach the knots and untie it...

Iole's comment brought a faint smile. She was glad Cali was here? Funny, Cali would have rather been almost anywhere else, and would have wished Iole was with her in the more pleasant place. "I wish neither of us was here," Cali replied with a trace of amusement. Though, she understood what Iole meant, she couldn't help but reply thus. "Wherever 'here' is..." She added in a murmur, wincing through the pain still radiating from the back of her head. "I'd rather we were sitting down together with tea and cookies somewhere nice and cozy," She added softly, which would have been her suggestion under normal circumstances. But alas... that was not to be, apparently. Dropping her chin down to her chest, Cali thought maybe it would help something if she relaxed her neck or something. It didn't help though. What did he hit her with, anyway? A skillet? A mace? "Ugh..my head.." The soft moaning complaint slipped out before she could stop it. So much for a joyful reunion with her friends, Cali thought wryly, before noticing, a little belatedly, that Iole's question had trailed off. Raising her head slightly, she tried to look over her shoulder again to see what was the reason for that.

Catching sight of the man rolling a barrel toward them, Cali froze. That was the man! Just then, Iole's movements made her lurch over slightly, and caused another wince as the ropes jerked at her wrists. Gasping softly at the slight pain that ensued from this, Cali hastily put her feet out against the side of the wagon, trying to brace against it so as to prevent their falling over entirely. She was so intent on trying to will her head to stop its relentless throbbing, she missed the gesture meant to silence them, and scrunched her eyes tight to try and shut out the pain for a moment. When she opened them again, she focused her gaze on the man again. He was bringing a second barrel over. What for? And was that a weapon on his side? She couldn't distinguish very much about it, since it was on his side furthest from her, but she was fairly certain that was a weapon belt around his waist. And she was fairly sure he hadn't been wearing one before, at the fayre. So he was armed now? What was this all about? Feeling further perplexed than ever, Cali took a brief glance around, trying to take in everything she could see from her position, before her gaze settled again on the man. What was that name he'd told her? She struggled to remember, but drew a blank, other than that it started with an L. And she was fairly sure it had a 'dir' on the end. Because... she had noticed that. Low...Something...dir. That particular name ending stuck out to her, because of her brother.

Hearing Iole's worried voice, speaking her name in a question, Cali had no need to hear what the question was in full. "We'll be alright, don't worry." She whispered, trying to sound reassuring, though she didn't feel too sure about that herself. The young woman felt that there was more to her friend's question than that, but had no answers for her. Therefore, she attempted to get the answers from the only one who could give them. "What are you doing?" She wondered, frowning toward the stranger. Her voice was slightly strained, hinting at the pain she was suffering. Despite the many questions she wanted to ask, she decided she'd rather not do a lot of talking right away. But still, what was going on? Why were they here? Where was 'here'? What did he mean to do with those barrels? She felt strongly suspicious about it, worried about what he had in mind. "Where are we?" She demanded, trying not to sound like she was fighting a splitting headache. "And why are we here?"

While she was making her inquiries, Cali's fingers, hidden between their backs, reached out to find Iole's wrists. She had given up on trying to undo her own knots, finding it too painful to twist her hands around to such an angle for even a moment, let alone long enough to work the knots loose. Too bad she didn't have a knife or something to cut the ropes with, but maybe they would get lucky, though the odds seemed against them today. First finding her friend's hand, Cali did the best she could on squeezing it in an attempt at reassuring her, then located the ropes binding her wrists, trying to work on them in the hopes it might be easier to free Iole than herself. Meanwhile her mind was racing with thoughts and ideas, possibilities, ifs and maybes. If they got really lucky, they might manage to free each other and slip away while the man wasn't looking or something... perhaps she could try and trick him into going a little ways off for a moment, somehow. And maybe, if both of those instances worked, they could somehow manage to run away and hide from him. And then... somehow find their way back to where there were other people?

@Arnyn

After a brief contemplation to Arnyn's question, Duinion shook his head. "No, I'll take it." He decided, holding out a hand to accept the bow from her. "I've gotten a bit bored of making arrows for now." He smiled. It was easier to practice his shooting with another person there to retrieve arrows, but he could manage it, regardless. And perhaps Eryn would come around after Arnyn had left, and they could practice together for a bit. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He added, perhaps meaning the thanks for a couple of things. Though he generally preferred to be away from people, it was still nice to have a visitor once in a while and the effort to get to know him, and give him a chance to get to know her, was appreciated, as well as her apparent concern in how he was healing. Qualities like that were the sort he appreciated in those with authority.

---

Eryn laughed lightly. She had better accept it, huh? She grinned at Kaylin. "Alright, alright. I accept, and you're welcome. But I have to thank you for.. everything else, I guess. Cause you know, if it hadn't been for you I'd have.." She shook her head slightly. "Yeah, let's not go there." She decided. What mattered, she figured, was that neither of them had died, and they made it back to tell the story (even if the story couldn't really be told openly) and everyone was fine.

Kaylin's reaction to the possibility of teaching her some stuff, though, was a bit disappointing. As Kaylin went on to talk about the way they all served together, and had a mutual respect together.. that it wouldn't be right to go against his wishes behind his back, she sighed and nodded. "I hadn't thought of it that way." She thought briefly about how Addhor had hesitated when she'd asked him to teach her things about trapping, and suspected that might be part of the reason why. It seemed so unfair that she should be denied learning important skills that could save her life, but she could understand the others' side of it too. She'd just have to keep pestering her dad all the more about it, until he relented.

Then, she glanced up again in surprise as she heard the last part of what Kaylin said. "You would?" She smiled, listening to the conditions thoughtfully. "I'll ask him again. Who knows.. maybe he's changed his mind. I mean, he did agree to teach me some traps and stuff, when he's able." She shrugged, trying to be optimistic about the whole thing.

The Pelennor Fields, Cermië (summer)
@Rillewen


Arnyn

She handed the weapon to him as he held out his hand, and looked into his eyes when he thanked her. A smile touched her lips before she looked away and walked to the target to retrieve the arrows.

Once she had done so, she returned them to Duinion, still sitting on the log. Glancing at the shelter and the fire, she decided she would leave the tray for him that Aggie had brought over, unless he requested she take it with her. "Then I will see you soon, Duinion," she said, bowing her head in goodbye. If he thought her visit to him today had brought about difficult topics of conversation, he would definitely not like the conversation she had in mind for their next meeting. Mentally, Arnyn sighed. Outwardly, she raised her hand in a gesture of leavetaking.

It was time to find Aggie and then return to Minas Tirith.


Kaylin

She smiled broadly when Eryn thanked her in return. "Aye," she agreed. "You are welcome." She leaned in toward her friend. "Best not speak of it too much, I suppose. The fields may have ears." Her smile turned into an outright grin before she pulled back again and saw the disappointment on Eryn's face concerning the other topic.

But her smile returned when Eryn turned hopeful. "Sure I would. If he agrees. So yes, ask him. And let me know what he says!" Curious, though, Kaylin tapped her chin as she looked at her friend. "If you're thinking about asking Unalmis to teach you about knives, what would you ask me to teach you?" She rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. "And don't say 'anything', pleaaaaase, Eryn." She laughed. "Knowing you, I'm sure you have something specific in mind."

@Arnyn

Receiving the arrows back from her, he smiled. "Thank you," He lined them up on the log in front of him. "I'll see you soon," He agreed. Although he was sort of dreading having to go up to the sixth level, he figured it was about time he did so. In the meanwhile, he decided he'd spend some time testing all these arrows he'd been making. They wouldn't do much good if they didn't fly straight, or not very far, after all. As Arnyn took her leave, he waved back in farewell, and began another round of shooting, varying up where he aimed on the target.

---

Eryn couldn't help a little giggle at the mention that the fields may have ears. "Not here, at least... there's a small cornfield over that way though." She mentioned jokingly, waving a hand off toward where they had a garden for food. She couldn't help that little joke, although she knew what Kaylin actually meant. She reached up to pet Buttercup's nose as the horse nuzzled her shoulder. "I'll definitely let you know what he says," She smiled, happy to have friends that could help her with stuff.

Kaylin's next question caught her slightly off guard, and she paused before giving a little grin. "Anything?" She teased. "Just kidding... I don't know. I just realized, actually.. I don't know a lot about what skills you have." She tilted her head. "What weapons do you use? I remember you had a short sword.. and a shield, before." She didn't need to mention when that was. "But you did pretty well using my bow," She paused. "I don't actually know what to ask you to teach me," She laughed a bit at this revelation, and hoped to have it remedied quickly.

Daisy Dairy Farm - Cerimë


Kaylin
@Rillewen

She wasn't sure whether to laugh or grimace when Eryn said she wasn't sure which skills Kaylin possessed. "Well, it makes sense that you don't," she said, ending up laughing. "It feels a bit weird to sum them up..." She raised an eyebrow. "As if I'm still trying to get accepted or singing my own praises to get in on a special mission..." With a chuckle, she shrugged. "Sword, yes. Shortsword and shield, but longsword too - though I use the former more in action than the latter. It depends."

Wondering how much to say or not to say about the more unusual skillset she possessed, Kaylin reminded herself that it was not to be discussed too openly. "I'm pretty good with knives," she downplayed. "Daggers, knives, small or large - throwing knives, too, although the applications of the latter are more limited than someone skilled at using them would wish. Stealth is another skill," she said almost off-handedly, dropping the spying part that leaned so closely into it but was not a required or even sought after ranger skill. Her blue-grey eyes looked sideways and up, as if she did not want to make a big deal out of her list of advanced skills. "I trained with a spear specialist extensively for years. Hand-to-hand." She glanced back to Eryn. "But I'm not sure if I would advise you to spend too much time on that from the first."

Kaylin gestured, remembering her friend's words about using her bow. "And, yeah, thanks to Thûllir I do okay with a bow. But I am nowhere near as good as he is, or as Duinion would be," she added quickly, knowing the bow was Eryn's father's primary weapon. She left out interrogation entirely - another skill that was not on the required or nice-to-have-list. There was something else she could mention that wasn't really necessary but could still prove useful and which wouldn't lead to too many questions. "Swimming. It's not a standard skill required of a Ranger, but it can come in handy when operating near rivers or the sea. Thûllir also taught me a lot about survival when out and about; you know, the four basics: water, food, shelter, fire. But that's your father's area of expertise, so I wouldn't bother asking me to teach you about that stuff."

"So I suppose... Swords, shield, regular and throwing knives, daggers, spears, hand-to-hand and stealth would be ranger skills where you could be sure you're getting taught by someone... um... well, you know, someone who knows what they're doing."

@Arnyn
Eryn listened curiously as Kaylin went through the different things she was good at, and sort of felt jealous. Though, she knew that once she'd had a chance to train and learn things, she'd be good at a lot of different skills, too. "My dad's secondary weapons are daggers," She mentioned, after Kaylin had mentioned daggers, knives, and other blades. "He used to let me watch off to the side when he was training other people." She added, a little saddened, missing those days. "I don't know if I remember any of the things, but I remember I used to try to copy some of the stuff I saw him teaching the recruits, like Ryn. He.. Ryn.. whittled me a dagger out of a stick once," She smiled, having totally forgotten about that until now. "I... don't remember what ever happened to that." She added sadly, guessing it might have gotten left behind when she had to evacuate during the war, and therefore, probably destroyed or something when the orcs came in and burned things.

As Kaylin mentioned swimming, Eryn smiled again. "I love swimming! Ohh, if you'd like, we could go swimming sometime? There's a nice spot along the stream here, that's just perfect for swimming. It's so nice on a hot day, and there's a rope tied up to a tree for swinging into the deep part." She grinned, sort of wanting to go right now, but she figured Kaylin might rather come back sometime when she was prepared for such an activity. But thinking of water and streams led to another thought, and she smiled. "Oh... I have an idea... Something maybe you could teach me, that I don't think my dad would object to at all." She would still check with him, but she couldn't think of any reason why he would protest this. "If we could get a boat, that is.. maybe you could teach me how to row? It was a lot harder than I thought it'd be!"

Nell with Pele, Mourgan and the Guard
Trying to find some freedom
Out the gate and setting off across the Pelennor
Wild Goose Chase
@Pele Alarion

Nell laughed at Pele talking about rolling down a hill and squishing the enemy as she let her horse have it's head and stretch it's legs. The steady gallop was fun and freeing as her long dark braid flew behind her, strands finding their way loose.

She smiled over to Pele as she asked what they should do. " If I thought it would do good I would show them but I doubt they'll follow. " She smiled as strands of hair crossed over her face. She pulled them back. "Let us just race as far as the gate." It had been so long since she'd been anywhere she was greatly enjoying her ride.

Meanwhile Mourgan and the Guard were keeping pace not far back. Mourgan looked over to the serious faced man. "Do you ever just have fun?" He seriously wondered.

Without looking over the Guard answered. "Only when ordered to do so."

Morgan cocked a brow and returned to looking forward, watching him Mother and Aunt ride further away. "If we don't hurry we'll lose them." He heeled his horse and tugged at the pack horse to quicken his pace, he left the Guard to find his own speed.

“Tea and cook ..” Iole repeated, in somewhat of a daze. Cali had braced them enough with her foot to keep the pair from sprawling over but the lurching which it took to right them both, caused the paler young woman to retch a little. “This is .. not alright,” she replied, eyes closed.

Arkadhur had returned with the second barrel he had rolled over to the wagon, a little more urgently since he had noted the two young women were coming back to consciousness. The more robust girl was asking the standard panic of ‘what, where, why’. As if any of the answers he could give to that would really help her at all. She was fidgeting. The other girl was floundering. The Umbarian gave up a sharp whistle, to stifle all (albeit halfhearted) complaints and raised up his previous captive's bloody ropes out of his pocket as his only answer, and held them high in one hand, so they could be seen.


“If you do not want to end up like the one who coloured these bonds, you will keep your heads. Keep your mouths shut,” he hissed. Iole grimaced as his snake tone infiltrated her ear. Arkadhur did not appear to have noticed. He had work to do, heaving first one and then the other almost empty barrels onto the back of the wagon. He had heaved bodies where Keket told him to, before now. The barrels, currently vacant as they were, he could manage. It would not be so easy to lift them up, once they were packed though. This would work better. Hauling himself up onto the wagon now, the Umbarian walked through the two barrels, one on either side of him, and lifted their lids before considering the two girls now at closer scrutiny. They would fit. It was time.


“I do not want to have to kill you,” he confessed, and it was not difficult to speak the truth. The mess alone no. “So that is on you. I simply want to get where I am going,” he clarified, drawing the dagger from it’s sheath. “Which means you two are coming along with me, as a little safety precaution,” he pointed the slight but decorated blade at first one, and then the other hostage, to make his point. “And once I’m where I need to be, I promise .. I will have no further need of you.”

No need to clarify that any further, for he was largely reacting as the need drove him to. Allowing the women little time to think up any protests to this proposition, the Man leaned down and shaved through the rope which bound the two together. Iole's blue eyes grew wide at the blade shearing through cord so close to them. They each though had their hands still bound separately behind them.


“Alright, you,” Arkadhur directed Cali with the blade like he was conducting an orchestra. She was likely to prove the more difficult of the two. Best neutralise her threat first, and then the second would be less likely to try anything, for fear of leaving her friend behind. “On your feet,” he suggested. “You’re going to get over here, and into this barrel,” he had decided, aloud. “Or I am going to make bloody ropes of your little friend.”

That ought to do it. He supposed. He locked dark eyes with the young woman. Behind her, the frailer of the two had fainted.

@Ercassie


Her questions were not answered. Cali wasn't terribly surprised, given the fact that he was clearly in charge of this situation, not Cali or Iole. She had to try, though. Hearing the faintness in Iole's tone, though, Cali was concerned for her. She wanted more than anything to put her arms around her friend and comfort her in this terrifying situation, but she couldn't loosen the ropes at all. Her wrists burned, and her arms ached. Her attempts seemed only to make it worse.

The sharp whistle brought her gaze snapping toward their abductor, her stomach tying into knots of its own. What were those barrels for? She had a suspicion what he had in mind, and she wanted nothing to do with that. Even from here, she could smell the musty, gross odor of stagnant water. Who knows how long those had sat collecting water, harboring mosquitos and all manner of slimy filth growing out of it. Thankfully the smell wasn't overly strong.. from here. Raising eyes up to find what their captor wanted them to see, Cali beheld the bloodstained ropes he was showing off, as if proud of his evil deed. Her heart pounded as her imagination filled in the gaps that he did not. What might have happened to the poor soul who once wore those ropes, same as she and Iole wore theirs now? What did he mean to do with them?

Mind racing, Cali heard his threats as if through a fog, but the message came through clearly enough. And, a moment later, another small realization. He demanded they keep their mouths shut. Why? Did that mean there might be someone near enough to hear them scream? A tiny, tiny flicker of hope stirred inside, but she wasn't sure she could manage anything. There was her friend's safety to think of, aside from her own. His proclamation that he did not want to have to kill them, did very little to comfort Cali against that possibility. But, the more he spoke, the less comfort she actually drew from that statement, if there had been any at all to begin with.

"...once I’m where I need to be, I promise .. I will have no further need of you.”

That last part left her reeling somewhat. Emphasized with a blade in one hand, he unwittingly revealed his eventual plan for them both, she realized. He would have no need of them...? She had no doubt then that once they were of no more use to him, he would kill them. It made sense, after all... they had seen his face, they could identify him. They would probably be able to tell which direction he had gone, and what he'd been wearing, they could even describe the wagon he was using... and the name he was using, although that was probably not his real name, she realized. And that dagger... Cali's breath caught in her throat, eyes widening as she recognized the weapon waved before her face. There was no mistaking that blade! For a moment, it was as if time slowed. Her eyes took in every familiar detail about it. The maker's mark... the decorative swirled pattern of the metal, the shape of the hilt... She didn't need to see the whole handle to know that particular weapon. She knew it well. Ryn's dagger, which was stolen from his body the day he died. In any other situation, she might have exclaimed, demanded to know where he had come by the dagger... but the shock of seeing it here, after all this time, left her speechless. Her breath was stuck in her throat, and she had to remind herself to breathe, and force herself to exhale the old breath, then draw in another, slowly. There should be two daggers... so where was the other one?

Belated, she realized the man had given her an order... while threatening her with her brother's dagger. The whereabouts of his other missing dagger paled in importance for the moment, as she remembered the situation she and Iole were in. This wasn't the time to worry about anything but surviving... though it was difficult to put aside the hope of apprehending the one who must have slain her twin. He was right there before them.. after all this time. What were the odds he would have captured her and Iole, of all the potential victims at the fayre? Perhaps it was planned? She blinked as she wrenched her thoughts toward the present again, though unable to tear her eyes away from the blade pointed at her. Numbly, she tried to work out what he'd said to do. On her feet... and into the barrel. Just as she'd feared. He was going to force them into those putrid, gross barrels! And use them as leverage to.. get through the gate? Something like that, she figured... then once he was safely through... they would have outlived their usefulness to him.

It seemed clear then, that there were two options; she could comply with his demands, and go along like a meek lamb, to be slaughtered once he had seen himself to safety using them as hostages... or she do all in her power to stop him from going any further, fight for her and Iole's freedom now, possibly stop him from getting away with his horrible crimes. Maybe she would die trying, or maybe she'd be successful. But it seemed she would have better chances of surviving if she fought him.. but she couldn't do that with her hands tied behind her back. Her heart hammered in her chest as she made a half-hearted attempt at getting to her feet, but honestly found it rather difficult, without the aid of her hands, and nearly fell over. And he expected her to climb into that barrel without using her hands?

"I..can't," She spoke truthfully, or at least she didn't want to put in enough effort to make it untruthful. "You can't expect me to climb into that thing with my hands behind my back," She added, frowning. Behind her, Iole had fainted again, much to Cali's concern. While that posed some difficulty in the plan of escape, at the same time, it was possibly for the better if Iole didn't see Cali putting up a fight, for fear of what harm may come to Iole as a result. She wasn't able to pass on her thoughts and observations to Iole, to make her understand that they had to put up a fight or they were certainly going to die... but if she could succeed, then perhaps they would be safe and sound by the time Iole returned to her senses. "I'll need my hands free... if you want me to do as you said." She added, to clarify her previous statement to the murderer, and hoped that he would see the sense in this.

Daisy Dairy Farm - Cerimë


Kaylin
@Rillewen

She slanted her head curiously. "Ryn? Have you mentioned him before? I don't think I've seen him around. Or this was a recruit in Ithilien perhaps?" This Ryn could very well be with Faramir's company, after all.

"Oh, rowing? Sure!" That indeed was about as innocent as it could get. "Plus, rowing is very good to strengthen your arms, shoulders and back." Kaylin grinned. "Which you'll need to be a ranger. And it is good that you are a swimmer already. That way, falling out is not such a problem." She laughed briefly. "Though you might still look like a drowned kitten when I return you to your father after rowing practice." Her grey-blue eyes gleamed with thoughts of mischief. Then she shrugged, a thinly veiled attempt to cover up her amusement at her own plans. And as for swimming...

"Swimming would be great..." She sighed loudly. "It's so warm out today too. Cooling down before starting that long walk back to the city would be kind of perfect." Kaylin didn't really care about spare clothes in the summer heat. She could strip most of them down and the rest would dry. It was just water, after all. "Wanna go now?" She grinned.

@Arnyn
She ought to have expected Kaylin to ask about him, but Eryn hadn't thought of that when she mentioned Ryn. Hesitating briefly, she tried to think of the simplest way to explain who he was. "Yes, he was.. with the Ithilien rangers. His name was Ryndir, but everyone just called him Ryn." She answered, glancing down. "He um... died, a little while before the war happened." She explained quietly. "Some bandits attacked him out in the forest, or something like that, when he'd gone off on his own. Dad.. took it kinda hard. They were sort of close, you know?" She didn't know much more than that, but had managed to learn that much, at least. "Anyway... Ryn was very nice, and friendly. And funny..." She smiled faintly, but sadly. "He was always very nice to me." After a moment's pause, she remembered something else. "You know the new smith at your armory? Ryn was her brother." Just a small point of interest, though she wasn't sure if Kaylin had met the new smith. "And also my uncle's younger brother..." She shrugged slightly. "So, he was sort of almost family, actually." He had seemed sort of like an uncle or cousin to her, though she hadn't been sure which of the terms to use.

Glad for the change of subject, she smiled as Kaylin agreed to teach her rowing. That was one step further in the right direction, at least! And she knew that her dad wasn't likely to want to have be the one teaching her that skill, because she knew he wasn't all that fond of boats. "I wonder how long the Lieutenant will be, or if she's finished?" She mentioned. "Cause, if she's done talking to him, I could stop by and ask him now if he'd mind about the rowing. And you could assure him I'll be safe or whatever," She added, not really sure what would be proper protocol for such a thing, but it might be nice to at least say hello to a fellow ranger, right? And she knew they'd been on at least that one mission together, although her dad hadn't told her much about that.

"A half drowned kitten?" She laughed. "Well, I don't mind, and I'm sure he'd just find it amusing." She answered with a shrug, then her smile spread into a grin at the suggestion of going swimming right now. "Now? Yeah, that'd be fun! Let's do it," She hopped down from the fence eagerly. About that time, Hattie came bounding back with a chewed up stick, tail wagging as she looked very proud of herself for finding the item which Eryn did not throw for her. "Oh look, you found something!" Eryn praised her, amused as she scratched around her ears. "Good girl! Hey, do you have any objection to Hattie tagging along?" She asked Kaylin, thinking the dog might enjoy coming along with them.

@Arnyn

It wasn't the best place to work. In fact, he sort of hated this place; there were some unpleasant memories attached to it, and he wished he could get a similar job in another tavern. He remembered some of the better places in the White City, some in which he had secretly worked similarly in the past, before. Back before he foolishly ruined his life. But he was making efforts to put things back together, though he knew nothing would be the same again. Still, he had a job playing music, entertaining the patrons of the place. It was an honest living, doing what he enjoyed doing more than anything, and aside from worrying about who might come in and cause trouble for him, he was satisfied enough to stick around.

Trev's fingers seemed almost to dance across the top of his flute, playing a lively tune that had several of the drunken customers tapping their feet along to the song. A few had found barmaids to dance with. Overall it seemed everyone was having a good time. For the time being, Trev's worries had fled to another part of his mind, and he lost himself in the tune flowing from the beautifully crafted instrument in his hands. He'd decided that it was usually just as entertaining to watch the customers enjoy the music, as they were entertained by his music. The more he did this, the better he was getting at reading the mood of the room to make a guess at what would be the right type of melody for the moment. So far this evening had been filled with fast and lively tunes, and he was in need of some water and a short break. As soon as he had finished this tune, he intended to have both.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

While there was good fish to be bought in the White City and Macardil had long ago learned who the best merchants for such goods were, once in a while he still came to Harlond to buy directly from the people who had caught them. He also enjoyed watching the ships and the boats at the docks. Even though Harlond was very different from Dol Amroth - almost in every way, really - it still reminded him of his former home.

He usually walked along the docks for the views, bought his wares and then headed back. During this time he would pay to have his horse stabled at a tavern, but rarely lingered. It was easy to pay the stablehand without entering the tavern proper.

This time, though, he had come late in the day. Unwise, for all of the fishermen had already sold their wares; if not to households then to merchants. To still make the short trip worth his while, his feet had been slow during his walk, and upon returning to his horse, a flute drew his attention. The weather was warm and some of the windows to the tavern were open. The music spilled out and easily reached the stables. Macardil lingered in indecision for a mere moment. But the music won. He hadn't heard it here before. Whoever was playing, they were good.

Well. Why not? He was doing pretty well lately when it came to enjoying life again. His blue eyes glinted at the thought and a quick smile passed by his lips.

He entered the tavern. The flute player was impossible to miss, and to his grand surprise it looked like the young man who'd joined the musicians during the midsummer feast out on the Pelennor. Macardil sat down at one of the smaller, empty tables after deftly avoiding a dancing pair of whom the gentleman had had at least one drink too many. Slanting his head, he took another look at the flutist. It was the same young man, he was sure of it. Even though the young man had been wearing a hat at the Erulaitale, Macardil never forgot a face. He raised his hand in greeting.

When one of the barmaids passed by his table, he ordered two of the house ale, and asked the barmaid whether she would deliver one of these to the flute player.

@Arnyn

Drawing in a deep breath after the final note had taken up all of the previous one, Trev lowered his flute. A few people had come in, possibly drawn by the music, but he had been too busy focusing on playing to take a close look at anyone. It would obviously have been better had there been other instruments to add to the music, but it seemed more people didn't mind. Grinning slightly as he turned down a request to play another song, he reluctantly explained that he had to have a break and clean his flute before he could play anything else. Turning toward the girl who was approaching him, he intended to ask for some water, only to find her handing him a mug of ale. Trev blinked at this, glancing questioningly at the girl. "I didn't..."

"The gentleman over there sent it for you," She explained, waving a hand toward the man at one of the smaller tables.

Surprised, Trev took the mug as his gaze landed on the one responsible, while the girl wandered off to help some other customers. Trev looked at the drink, thoughtful. He'd never had anyone do this before, and therefore was quite curious about a person who would do such a thing. Torn between being grateful and suspicious, Trev hesitated to take a drink just yet. He didn't know the man, but he looked sort of familiar. Where had Trev seen him before? Definitely not in his father's crew, nor any of the other crews they had dealings with. After a moment of inner debate, he decided to investigate to find out what this was about... whether it simply a kind gesture, or someone out to cause him harm. He had managed to make quite a few enemies some months ago, after all.

Flute in one hand, and mug in the other, Trev wandered over to the stranger's table to get to the bottom of this small mystery. "Hello..." He paused, and then it hit him where he'd seen this guy before. "You were with the musicians at the midsummer thing." He realized. "Violin, right?" He smiled slightly, remembering the time he'd spent playing along with them, shortly before his friends caught up to him. After that point, a lot had happened which overshadowed the rest, but it came back to him now. The violinist had nodded to him or something, Trev remembered. He'd seemed friendly. "You sent this?" He raised the mug in question, checking to verify it was from this guy, and that Trev hadn't misunderstood who the girl had pointed to.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

The young man seemed a bit taken aback by the drink Macardil had sent over. Smiling faintly, the dark-haired man sipped from his own mug which had just been brought over. He watched as the flutist approached his table and put the ale down when he arrived.

"Good evening," he returned the greeting. "You have a good memory, young flute player. Violin, yes." He nodded at the last question. "I did. Playing can be thirsty work, and you would not be the first musician to forget such needs despite being in a tavern. If you are taking a break, would you care to sit? I was only drawn in because of your music, and now the notes have dissipated I must admit I find myself somewhat at a loss."

He rose from his seat and extended his hand. "My name is Macardil. How is this evening finding you?"

@Arnyn

A slight shrug followed the comment about Trev having a good memory. "Not really, I couldn't think where I'd seen you before until just now." He admitted. "But, you sorta stood out a bit, that day. Up on stage and all," He added with a small smile. He left out that not a lot of people were friendly to him these days, so someone showing a little friendliness even from a distance was noticeable.

The smile grew slightly to hear that his music had been what drew the guy in. It was always nice to hear a compliment of some sort, and especially about his music. "I'm sorry you came in just before I took a break, then." Setting the mug down on the table, he took the offered hand in a handshake, his grip strengthened by the ship work he'd done in the past few years. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Macardil. I'm Trevadir." After a brief hesitation, he decided the invitation to join him was friendly enough. "Thanks. I'm just taking a few minutes to catch my breath and clean my flute. If it wasn't for that need, I'd be happy to play all night." He explained with a little laugh as he took the chair opposite Macardil.

That Macardil asked about his evening was somewhat unexpected. "So far, it's going great." He shrugged. "As you can see, people are enjoying the music and having fun. It makes me happy to see other folks enjoy the music as much as I enjoy making it." He answered with a small grin, before tilting his head in curiosity. "Although, I have to say, I don't know why you'd be impressed by my playing, when your own musical skill is so impressive." Trev mentioned, recalling the violin playing that he'd enjoyed listening to at the midsummer festivities. At times he'd struggled to keep up when he was playing along, and could only assume that a violin must be more difficult than a flute, but then he didn't know since he'd never had the money for any instrument of that sort. "So.. how is your evening?" He returned the question, for lack of knowing what else to say.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

A half smile tugged at his lips when the flutist mentioned he'd stood out at midsummer, and Macardil was grateful for the clarification that it had been the stage. It was good to know that not everyone linked him to betrayal and violence, albeit not of his own choosing. The half smile grew into a regular one when the young man shook his hand. His grip was strong, but then so was Macardil's after over a decade of training. "Well met, Trevadir."

The young man sat, and do did Macardil. "Good playing such as yours requires a break once in a while," he nodded. "Lest the quality suffers." They would both understand this well. The former ranger looked around the tavern when the younger man said people were enjoying themselves. The compliment that followed caught him off guard. "You honor me," he said with a bow of his head. "I would wager your own skill will have grown much once you've had all my years of practice." While Macardil wasn't sure how young Trevadir was exactly, Macardil judged he could not be older than in his early twenties.

"My evening is going well enough," he replied, and his blue eyes lit with some private amusement. "I came to Harlond looking for fresh fish, but I should have known not to wait for the end of the day to do so. It was foolish. Yet my walk was pleasant, and it seems I will be in for some more music later. And that will do nicely."

A snarl came from behind him, closer than Macardil would have liked. He looked over his shoulder, to see a man who looked very much like a deck hand only two paces away. The man was looking at their table, gleaming eyes first aimed at Trevadir and then focusing on Macardil. "Tis beyond foolish to try an' buy fish after midday! And now yar a fool again, sitting with this traitor!" The gruff-looking man next to the deck hand grunted his agreement.

The loud exclamation drew more pairs of eyes to them. "Traitor?" someone else scoffed loudly, approaching their table, another man in tow behind him. "You're talking about the wrong guy. It's him who's the traitor," he said, pointing at Macardil. "Unless that back-stabber has found a traitor-friend. People look for them own kind, after all."

@Arnyn

Before Trev had a chance to reply to Macardil, another voice intruded into the conversation. One sounded familiar, the next, not so much. But they had something in common; both were annoying, and spouting out things Trevadir had hoped would not be brought up. His heart sank as the accusations flew about him being a traitor, hardly noticing the words spoken against the other man. Trying his best to salvage the situation the best he could, Trev made an attempt at feigning ignorance. "I think you must be mistaken..." He began, a lousy attempt, since he knew the deckhand pretty well.. as well as the other one who was sitting with him.

"Ha, there ain't no mistake, except yours! You think you can pretend your treach'ry never happened?" The other deckhand who was sitting with Grisly joined in. Trev inwardly groaned as the one named Scarborough spoke up. So much for the possibility of making a new friend. Trev's gaze dropped to the table as the pirate carried on with a sneer. "You ain't under your daddy's protection no more, boy."

"Well, ain't that too bad," One of the strangers who'd come from another table, put in. "Cause when you go around shaking hands with the likes of him, you oughta have all the protection you can get." He glared at Macardil with this statement. "A snake like that'll probably shake your hand with one, and stab you with the other." He nudged his buddy, the other guy who had spoken against Macardil. "I dunno if traitors can make friends of each other, they'd just end up betraying each other, you know?" He pointed out, then grinned. "Oh, I've got it! Maybe them two's plotting out who they'll turn on next, huh?" He laughed, then back turned to his friend. "Hey, you think there might be a reward out for this backstabber?" He grinned at the thought of turning the probably escaped prisoner in for a reward.

"I dunno about him," Scar pointed to Macardil, "But our Captain would sure like to.. talk to this 'un," He said with a certain emphasis on 'talk' ti imply it may be something far less pleasant than just talk. Snarling, he suddenly reached out to grab Trev by the front of his shirt. "C'mon boy, let's see how you weasel out of it this time," He sneered, trying to haul Trev up to his feet.

"Let go," Trev demanded through gritted teeth, struggling to keep his temper in check, though he could have gotten out of Scar's grip without too much trouble. "I'm not going anywhere with you." Having been warned against getting involved in fights, after the last time something like this happened, Trev was putting forth his best efforts to refrain in hopes of somehow arriving at a more peaceful resolution, but for the moment was at a bit of a loss at how to achieve such a thing.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

He frowned in confusion when the deckhand (Grisly) switched from addressing him to addressing Trevadir. Or so it seemed, for the man spoke of a traitor, and between Macardil and Trevadir, surely Macardil was the one who had been labeled as such. His frown deepened when two others approached. They apparently thought the deckhand had been speaking about Trevadir, because they pointed at Macardil and spoke of him in terms he had somehow long managed to avoid.

His blue gaze dropped to the table. After months of no more than some dirty looks here and there, and a few house owners who were at first negatively disposed to him when he had been inquiring for a new abode, it was after this whole time that people chose to confront him? Just when he was starting to forgive himself for what had happened? For his weakness?

The flutist tried to help, but his attempt at de-escalation was firmly denied. Macardil's frown deepened. The other deckhand (Scarborough) joined in and was now definitely targeting Trevadir. Not him. Macardil's eyes left the table to look at the flutist, only to see it was now the latter's turn to cast his gaze downward. What was going on, here? Yet he was instinctively in favor of Trevadir, especially after hearing the sneer about Trevadir no longer being under his father's protection. That sounded like they had violence in mind. And Macardil was dead set against getting involved in any such thing.

The two coming from the other side in turn seemed to feel stronger because of the way the deckhands were behaving. Macardil's eyes fixed on them as they continued to deliver insults to his honor before involving Trevadir into the whole business as well. Macardil's jaw clenched as he assessed them with a cold kind of focus. They were not as tall as him, nor did they move in a way that spoke of a warrior's edge. One of them might have more muscle strength. But all in all, he would have the advantage if it came to hand-to-hand. They bore no large or visible weapons. So if they carried anything, it would be small. Small could still be lethal, however. And Macardil had acquired the habit of going about his business unarmed. After the healing of the King and a period where he had carefully assessed his own responses, he was confident he was freed of the sorcerer's binding, and he trusted himself with weapons well enough. But he was perceived as less of a threat without any weapons.

Which, in this case, was probably a bad thing.

They spoke about a reward for him. They had no idea he had been pardoned. All thoughts about himself went out the window when one of the deckhands strode past him and grabbed Trevadir by the shirt, trying to pull him up and delivering what was nothing short of a threat. The flutist remained in his seat and expressed his wish not to go with them.

Macardil did not want to fight. He would have simply tried talking, first, but the look of the four men who were bothering them told Macardil that words alone would not be enough for them. He regretted not bringing a weapon. It could have made all the difference.

He stood, rising up to his full height and straightening his shoulders. Startling blue eyes held the gaze of the two men who were planning on turning him in for a non-existent reward. He looked calm, but his bearing and black clothes made him look threatening. "I was released by the King. Requests for a reward will fall on deaf ears. And I will not go willingly."

Turning to the deckhand who was grabbing Trevadir's shirt, Macardil's voice was low. "He has clearly stated his refusal as well. Leave him be."

Grisly stepped up next to Scarborough. "This is between us, backstabber. We 'ave no business with you. Stay outta this."

While the guy out for a reward did not immediately respond to Macardil's words, his buddy shrugged and raised his hands. "You can say whatever ye like. But a lie is a small crime compared to stabbin' your own commander to death." He stepped forward, until he was less than an arm's length away from Macardil. Even though he wasn't as tall as the former ranger, the man was broad and imposing in his own way and tried to stare Macardil down. "Besides. There's four of us, and only two o' you. I wouldn't be so confident. Ye're not a ranger anymore. Unless you're telling me they also reinstated ye?" The man had started off serious, but by the end he was almost laughing, clearly not believing a word of what Macardil had said.

Macardil returned the man's gaze steadily and did not respond to the last question. "Rangers kill more than four enemies in a battle."
"Ye sure are a killer, ain't ye," the other man retorted, his tone dangerous.
Macardil winced involuntarily.

Meanwhile, Grisly narrowed his eyes at Trevadir. "If ya ain't got no fight in ya today, boy, yar in trouble."

It seemed they would not be deterred, Macardil concluded. His hopes of getting out of here with no more than a verbal reminder, were dashed. Yet he would not be the one to instigate anything. Cleared from his crime or not, it still left a mark. He could not afford to make that mark any bigger. And to that end, he raised his voice, so many of the patrons around them would hear his words. "Please, leave us alone. There is no point to this." He would have said he would leave, but there was no way he was going to dump Trevadir in here with Grisly and Scarborough. And Trevadir likely could not just leave the tavern already. He was likely under some form of contract. Yet perhaps he could finish his break outside. "Trevadir and I can finish our drinks outside, if that helps calm things down."

"Ooh, lost your edge, 'ave ye?" The man standing in his face looked almost pleased. Eager.
Grisly turned to look at them, clearly amused. "Maybe he don't remember how to fight, lads. Seems the boy here," he glanced at Trevadir, "has forgot the same."

@Arnyn

Trevadir had hooked his ankles around the bottom of the chair legs, trying very hard to prevent the man from being able to pull him to his feet. There were some lingering hopes that maybe, if he could just keep his temper under control, and keep calm, they might lose interest or something and go on their way. He hated that, because of him, the nice violinist from the midsummer festival was getting all sorts of horrible accusations. Just from associating with Trev. It wasn't fair. And it wasn't fair that they were saying such things about Trev, either, when he had acted out of loyalty for his friends, and his homeland, rather than for the father who had abandoned him and continually made it clear he didn't care much about him. They didn't remember those little details, he noticed. He couldn't stop a bit of his anger from creeping onto his expression. His dark brown eyes glinted with suppressed anger, despite his efforts to remind himself to stay calm. 'Don't let them provoke you,' he told himself mentally.

Letting out a slow breath as he counted to ten, Trev concluded that the men were not likely to let him go just because he asked. But he wasn't about to let them drag him back to the ship. Even if some dreadful punishment didn't await him there, he wanted nothing to do with that life anymore, and they should all know that. He'd made it pretty clear from the beginning he wasn't enthused about being there, after the first week or two. But now, he wasn't sure what to do. It wasn't just himself being threatened, now. They had moved past throwing accusations toward Macardil; they were trying to antagonize him and threaten him, as well. Trev tried to think. It was surely him they were after. Maybe if he separated himself from the other guy, they would lose interest in him, and come after Trev.. the odds of four against one was far worse than four against two, but he might be able to figure something out, and give Macardil a chance to slip out, at least.

Something that was said, however, caught his attention. Rangers? He glanced briefly at the man whom he had assumed was merely a fellow musician, wondering if he might be a ranger, but with Scar and Grisly both bothering him, and the other two chipping in to antagonize Macardil, it was difficult to make sense of everything that was said. And he figured a lot of it was probably not true, or else misconstrued in some manner. He noticed that one of the other two men was squared off facing Macardil like he was just waiting for a fight to start, while the other guy had stepped around behind Macardil, looking a bit like a shark waiting for someone to fall overboard. In this case, waiting for someone to take the bait and start a fight.


Circling around behind Macardil, the other man positioned himself so as to ensure the 'fugitive' wouldn't be able to get past him. "I wonder, did ya stab him while he was sleeping, or just wait til he turned his back?" Torrad sneered in a low voice, from just behind Macardil's ear. "I bet the White City's swarming like a hornet's nest, trying to find their escaped prisoner, don'cha think?" He looked at his buddy, but his attention was briefly drawn to Trevadir as the flutist stood up and broke Scar's grip on him.


Focused on his own dilemma for the moment, Trev decided he would probably be better off if he got to his feet. "I said, let go of me." He repeated, his voice tinged with anger as he reached up and over with his free hand and took hold of Scar's hand, the one gripping Trev by the shirt. With one deft move, he pried the man's hand over and away from himself, in such a way that his arm ended up at an awkward, painful angle.

Scar growled and released his grip on Trev's shirt, wincing as he stepped back, clutching his arm with surprise at the move. "Well, well... think you got a little fight after all?" He narrowed his eyes as Trevadir quietly stood of his own accord, rather than because the other man had dragged him out of his chair.

Looking around Macardil, Torrad took a better look and then addressed his friend, "You know who the kid looks kinda like?" He suddenly realized. "That pirate, the one that was wanted for the murder of a swan knight. Happened years ago... stabbed the man in the back he did.. remember hearing about that?" He asked his buddy.

Inwardly, Trev cringed to hear that matter brought up. He'd heard about that incident, and he certainly didn't want to be associated with it. He hated that he apparently looked so much like his father at this age, and hoped that maybe no one would mention that he was related to Devedir.

"Ha, that's because this here's his son," Scar revealed with a laugh at the irony of the situation, much to Trev's dismay.

"Aha! Well, then it figures that he'd be hanging around with this backstabbin' scum," Torrad sneered with a shove at Macardil's back, intended to make him stumble into Torrad's friend.


Trev clenched his jaw. 'Don't let them antagonize you,' He repeated in his mind, and took a quick glance to check on Macardil. Trev was trying his best to prevent a fight, but was running out of patience, and temper. "I think my break is over." Trev remarked with as much calm as he could muster. Flute in hand, he intended to return to his spot in the hopes they would follow him and leave Macardil alone, but found his way blocked by the two pirates.

"The only break you'll be getting'll be in your back," Scar snarled, jabbing a finger at Trevadir's chest. "You made us look like idiots you know, and we ain't too happy about that."

"You didn't need much help in that regard," Trev replied instinctively, the words slipping out before he could catch them. The second he'd spoken, he knew that he shouldn't have said it, but it was too late now. The furious look on the man's face told him that there was no hope of getting out of this situation without a fight. As Scar's fist inevitably came toward his face, Trev dodged with a swift lean to one side, then he pivoted to the side as the man tried again with a left hook. With his balance now thrown off, Scar stumbled into the chair that Trev had recently abandoned, cursing as he picked himself back up, now angrier than before.

Glancing quickly from Scar to Grisly, Trevadir took a small step back to put a little more space between them as he watched them both warily. Wondering which one would make a move next, his flute made a smooth revolution through the air by his side as he gave it a quick twirl, preparing for the next move against him.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

The man right in front of him was grinning. The look in his eyes basically asked for a fist to the face, but Macardil refrained. He was the one in control of his actions. Not these men. Very aware of the second man circling around him, Macardil's hand clenched. If he hadn't received the training he had, if he had not had the battle experience he'd had, he would feel cornered. His blue eyes were hard, fixed as they were on the man facing him, despite the sneer coming from just behind him.

Macardil's feet shifted slightly, into a somewhat wider, staggered stance. His chin lowered as he prepared, his muscles tense, his mind clear.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Trevadir rising from his seat and Scarborough, who had been grabbing his shirt, stepping back. Macardil's eyes tightened. If Trevadir could handle himself...

And yet. He did not make a move against them. Not yet. The responsibility of not engaging in such immature behaviour and maintaining his self-control weighed heavily on his shoulders. As long as they kept to verbal abuse and a shirt grab, he could ignore the slander. What was giving him the most trouble not to step in, honestly, was that Trevadir was also a target. He still hoped they would get bored soon and let the flutist return to his tunes.

The man who'd sneered into his ear, Torrad, asked his friend about a pirate. Apparently, Trevadir looked like him. Scarborough laughed and said Trevadir was that pirate's son. Trevadir looked alarmed. While Macardil was still processing that bit of information, he felt the sudden and hard push at his back. His stance did not make him fall, but taking one step forward was inevitable in order to maintain balance, which did cause him to bump into the man in front of him.

The patrons of the tavern were clearing more and more space for them. Most of them looked upset, yet curiosity kept their eyes on them and no one wanted to intervene, or so it seemed.

The man in question grabbed for Macardil's shoulder, but the former ranger twisted himself out of the grip before it could tighten.
"Oy, Ultor!" Torrad called out in warning, but Macardil was faster and used his momentum to push the man in front of him, Ultor, off to the side. He did not want to hurt the man. He had not come here to hurt anyone. Macardil retreated slightly, drawing up next to Trevadir.

His blue eyes darted between the four men now in front of the two musicians.

Grisly stepped up to take Scar's place as the latter recovered from his stumble. The approaching deckhand drew brass knuckles from his pocket and gave Trevadir a wicked smile. "Come, boy. Time to get to work on that face o' yours."

Ultor had recovered quickly and drew up next to the deckhand, clearly angry at failing to grab Macardil. He unsheathed a knife and did not speak.

This changed everything. With unarmed opponents, Macardil had been confident he could suffer through whatever was to follow without getting too violent. However, with weapons in play... Macardil glanced at Trevadir and nodded. They would be better off presenting a united front. "I'll take the knife," he said, his voice calm and calculated. It was good fortune at least, that the one who seemed to be targeting the flutist did not have a blade.

He stepped forward first, not wanting to bring the knife too close to Trevadir, and feigned a move for Ultor's weapon. Ultor dodged the feign and slashed, surprisingly agile. Macardil was quick on his feet, fast enough to avoid the weapon. He grabbed Ultor's wrist with his left hand. The onlookers could hardly see the details,it all happened so fast; but Macardil twisted the man's wrist even as he bent forward beneath the man and pulled him in to elbow him in the stomach. He twisted Ultor's fist further still as the man got disoriented, and the knife clattered to the floorboards. Macardil moved to push the man away. He needed to see where the others were.

Meanwhile, Grisly launched a sequence of punches at Trevadir, one hand bare-knuckled, the other... much more dangerous.

@Arnyn

Watching Grisly put on his brass knuckles, Trev exhaled slowly, trying to force himself to be calm. Ryn always used to say not to be angry while fighting, that it was best to keep a calm, clear mind. Anger would cloud his judgement, and alter his reflexes negatively, or something like that. Trev had always tried to keep that in mind, ever since his friend had impressed upon him the importance of it. With his short-fuse temper, and the fact he had just been antagonized by these guys, it was a bit difficult, but he tried. Even when he saw a knife in the other guy's hand, threatening Macardil.

If he was a ranger, as he thought those guys had said, then hopefully he'd be alright. But when knives were involved, it was definitely more likely someone would get seriously hurt. He had previously been glad that his own dagger was safely stored away in the room he lived in here at the tavern/inn, but now he almost wished he had it. But, still, he wouldn't want to seriously harm anyone; his main goal was to stop them from hurting himself and Macardil without hurting them either. He gave a tiny nod back at Macardil, acknowledging his comment, but there wasn't much time for discussion as the pair of musicians were forced to defend themselves.

Trev was too busy with Grisly to watch Macardil; as the man came at him swinging punches left and right, Trevadir first jerked his head back to avoid the brass knuckles, then proceeded to duck and dodge with swift reflexes developed over the last five years being around so many cutthroats, pirates, and other rough types. He knew he couldn't evade forever though; he'd get tired out too quickly doing that, and then Grisly or Scar would find it easier to grab him. So, he was watching for an opening, and when it came, he was ready and waiting for it. After jumping back to avoid an uppercut that would have caught him in the gut, using the brass knuckles, Trev made his move. He'd noticed the man had thus far kept to a pattern, left, right, left, right, and estimated that the other fist was coming next. Gripping the flute with a hand on either end of it, he raised the instrument-turned-weapon up vertically to catch the man's bare-knuckled punch that followed.

The strong metal pipe, forged to withstand blows more forceful than that, suffered no damage. Trev doubted the same could be said for Grisly's knuckles, however. As the man howled out his pain for all to hear, Trev counter-attacked just as rapidly as he'd blocked the punch with the flute; turning the flute horizontal instead of vertical, his foot slid forward to bring him in closer. At the same time, one hand let go of the flute, and the other flicked the end of the weapon sharply toward Grisly's jaw. He hoped the blow might be enough to knock him out, but there was still Scar to deal with, even if that worked. Adrenaline racing, he looked to see what Scar and the others were doing now.


Meanwhile, Torrad dove for the knife that Ultor had dropped, and rose up with it in hand, eyes narrowed as he turned to confront Macardil. "Yer not getting outta here, ya murderer," He sneered. "I'll deliver you to the guards if I have to cut you into little pieces." He made a jerking motion to feign going for an attack, then instead aimed a kick for the former ranger, hoping to catch the side of his knee, and make his leg buckle and bring him to the ground. It would then make it nearly impossible for him to run too, which would be a win-win for the vigilantes. If that didn't work, his follow-up would be an attempted slash to the face.

Cadil, adventuring with Unalmis @Ercassie
and approaching the guard @Rillewen at the Southern Gate

The line of folks wanting to head beyond the walls seemed rather long, and so Cadil could not wholly blame Nal for trying to chase the boredom away. Yet, he himself did not join in the singing though he added some sort of music by whistling along. He kept adjusting the straps of his pack occasionally - it had been a while since he had carried around so many of his belongings, and the weight was now making the straps rub against the soft skin of his shoulders.

"Eh? What's that?" he questioned, noticing his friend's reaction to the guard on duty at the gate.

He saw no reason why they would have trouble getting through the gate, so he merrily said to the guard: "We're just off to visit, and will be back soon, though not this day." He motioned towards his bag and added: "Also, some outdoor camping for a change of scenery. One can't always stare at stone walls."

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

An obscenely loud howl of pain distracted him and drew his gaze towards Trevadir and his assailants. He had to make sure it was one of them, and not the flutist. He caught Trevadir attacking one of the deckhands with his flute, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Alright. So he could handle himself.

"Yer not getting outta here, ya murderer. I'll deliver you to the guards if I have to cut you into little pieces."

Torrad had the knife. Macardil chided himself for this mistake. He should have moved for the weapon immediately. He had not, and now he was faced with the consequences. Macardil moved to evade the attack which only proved a feint. He was also looking to see where Ultor might be in the meanwhile, just in time to stop the other man's punch by catching his fist in his hand and gripping it tightly. He pulled Ultor down with him when Torrad's boot made contact with his knee. He wouldn't be able to put weight on the impacted knee right away, Macardil knew, so he allowed it to sink to the floor along with his free left hand for additional support. His other leg kicked at Torrad and the knife he was holding, making contact with the man's arm as it moved down with intent to slash at him. Torrad instinctively gripped his hand with his other hand.

The distraction allowed Macardil time to focus on Ultor. Still gripping the man's hand, Macardil sank further to the ground into a seated position and pulled hard at Ultor to bring him down more and push him away yet again, with his other hand.

He rose to his feet, his knee painful but still able to carry his weight. "I don't want to hurt you," he said loud enough for the two men to hear him. Torrad looked angry, as if to say Macardil had already hurt him. He was still gripping his hand. And so Macardil knew that at the very least Torrad was not a regular fighter. Ultor laughed. "But I do," he said, before snagging the knife from Torrad and moving in at Macardil yet again. The former ranger gritted his teeth. That they wanted to hurt him was obvious. And it did put him at a disadvantage.

Dodging a few attacks, he then grabbed at Ultor's arm to wrestle the knife from him. They grappled. The knife slipped over Macardil's arm. Macardil succeeded in holding the man in a lock. He increased the pressure until he let go of the knife and it fell to the floor yet again. Macardil turned around to put Ultor between him and Torrad, just in case the other was thinking about joining in again. "I don't want to hurt him," Macardil warned Torrad earnestly. "But if you come for me again, I will."

Grisly fell backward with one hand clutching his jaw. The impact had sent a zinging pain through his jaw and at least one of his teeth had cut through the skin of his cheek.

Scarborough partially caught his friend and then moved past him. "Don't get cocky, Trev!" he yelled out while he moved uncannily fast to grab the young man's flute. The deckhand figured Trevadir would never let go of his instrument, and that he could pull him in to elbow him to the face.

@Arnyn

Scar moved too fast for Trev to dodge, and the man got hold of his flute, though Trev didn't surrender it to him. Instead, he found himself jerked toward the other man. Flinging his left hand up to act as a barrier between his face and Scar's elbow, it lessened the impact somewhat as the other man's elbow collided with Trev's arm and the side of his face, but it was still enough to stun him for a moment. And it hurt, driving the heel of his hand into his eye area. Still, his friend had taught him several useful moves, and he'd practiced those often over the ensuing years. With little spots dancing in his vision, Trev pushed through the pain and let his muscle memory take over.

Taking hold of the free end of the flute, Trev used the fact that Scar was yanking the flute toward himself, to his advantage. With both hands on the weaponized instrument, one on either end, Scar's hand in the middle, he jabbed the end closest to Scar hard into the man's side, then swiftly twisted himself, and his flute, free of the pirate's grasp. Stumbling slightly from the lingering pain in his face, he backed away from Scar, and found his retreat blocked by the table where he had been sitting with Macardil. He blinked a few times, feeling as if the one eye might be swelling up even as he stood there.

Glancing toward his foe at the sound of glass breaking, Trev was alarmed to see that Scar had grabbed a bottle from a nearby table, and shattered the bottom to improvise a sharp, jagged weapon. One hand was pressed to his gut where Trev had jabbed him, but he seemed all the more determined to repay Trev for that pain. "Time you paid for your treachery.. and all them other stunts you pulled." The man snarled, approaching him with the bottle in hand.

"I don't want to fight you, Scar," Trev retorted, refraining from the instinct to reach up and feel the painful area. He vaguely waved toward Macardil as the other man tried to tell his attackers he didn't want to hurt them, "What he just said," He replied, trying to make the men understand he wasn't interested in this fight. "Why won't you guys just leave me alone?" The frustration was impossible to miss in his tone, wondering if he'd ever be truly free to live peacefully.

"Not a chance... you have a lot to answer for, Trev!" As Scar snarled and swung at him, Trev grabbed the mug of ale he had not had a chance to take even a sip of. He flung the contents into Scar's face with the hopes it would mess with his vision, before ducking to the side. As the man spluttered and swung wildly in his direction, Trev used his flute again to block the swing, held vertically to catch his wrist in mid-swing. Almost quicker than thought, Trev then snaked his arm through the crook of Scar's elbow, then brought his own arm up to trap Scar's between his arm and ribs. Meanwhile, his flute-bearing hand was now free to jab one end - the end held by his hand - upward into Scar's chin from underneath. Immediately after, he pulled his elbow up as he pivoted his body sideways, the motions working together in such a way that it yanked the bottle from Scar's grip, not even thinking of how close the jagged edge of the glass was to his own arm and side. But, if he didn't fumble it in the takeaway move, it would end up in his own hand instead of Scar's.


Seeing Ultor held fast in Macardi's grip, Torrad hesitated, but scowled, resting a hand on a nearby chair. "Yeah, you sure would, murderer," He agreed, sneering. "You'll kill my buddy just as you killed yer captain... I don't doubt that for a second." He narrowed his eyes. Assuming Ultor might get killed either way, he swung the chair suddenly toward the two, hoping to surprise Macardil and distract him while he rushed forward...

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

The sound of the shattering bottle interrupted the standoff between Macardil and Torrad. At first, Torrad had seemed to hold back after Macardil's threat, but he probably felt emboldened by the deckhand's improvised weapon. Perhaps it was the idea that he could not fold, when the other was still continuing his assault?

Macardil could almost feel Torrad's hesitation ebbing away. His adversary's hand on that chair made him wary. If a bottle had been shattered to use as a weapon, surely the use of a chair against them couldn't be far away. The man's sneer was not as black and white as the man thought, and Macardil would never seek to kill the man he was holding in a lock, but... the references to Amathen still cut deep. In a way that a blade or a jagged bottle could not.

The chair was lifted from the ground. Macardil tensed. The chair legs went up in the end. Macardil stepped forward instead of back. He ducked his head behind Ultor, the man he was holding, and then pushed him forward with a forceful shove. The chair crashed into Ultor. Ultor crashed into Torrad.

Macardil turned around. What was happening with Trevadir and that broken bottle? His blue eyes caught the young flutist, now standing with his metal flute in one hand and the bottle in the other. Scar's hair was dripping and he had a hand pressed to the bottom of his chin. Trevadir's eye was red and swelling up.

"ENOUGH!" Macardil yelled with his deep voice. There had been too much violence. And too many injuries. The patrons of the pub seemed to take another step back. Torrad and Ultor, who'd been scrambling to their feet, slowed their movements.

"Stop this madness." Macardil spoke in a commanding tone, standing tall and addressing the four who'd started the fight, his blue eyes making contact with their own each in turn. Besides their startling shade of blue, the look they bore was hard and his stare withering.

Ultor stayed down on the floor. Torrad froze in a crouch, but for how long he would remain there was hard to tell. Grisly seemed to need little encouragement not to get further involved after the injuries he'd suffered already. Scar was giving Trevadir a murderous glare, but did not move for the moment.

With an air of confidence that made a few people look on in amazement, Macardil strode to his chair, retrieved his cloak and whirled it around his shoulders.

"Trevadir. Come." Whoever was in charge of this place, was either not here or did not care what happened to his establishment or his paid musician. Trevadir could search him out later. Now they had to dismantle the tension. The best way to do that, would be for them to leave.

@Arnyn
"Enough!"

The command was enough to stop them all in their tracks. Trev was surprised to note that the shout had come from Macardil, and not the tavern owner. He kept his eyes fixed on Scar, watching in case the man tried anything more, although he had a feeling that jab to the chin might have been enough to make him hesitate about trying anything more. The glare Scar was giving him, however, made him uncertain about that. Trev had managed to transfer the bottle into his own hand, though he had no intention of using it. Not like Scar would have. Instead, he tossed it to the floor, where it rolled under the table out of reach unless someone was very determined. He didn't even notice the damp spot on his side and inside of his arm, gradually seeping through the fabric of his brown shirt.

"Enough is right!" A new voice entered during the brief pause after Macardil had spoken. The owner of the tavern pushed his way through the onlookers, his face looking quite red at what he had returned to after he came up from the cellar bringing a fresh barrel of ale to the bartender. "Just what is going on here? I leave the room for a few minutes and come back to find my establishment all torn apart with fighting!" He glared around at the six culprits. "Out! All of you! Before I call the guards and have you all arrested!"

Trev inwardly cringed as the man approached. Although he heard Macardil telling him to come, he hesitated. Maybe if he could just explain, and make the man understand what happened, he might just manage to salvage his job. But it was infuriating that he should have to. It wasn't like he asked for this! He hadn't asked for any of it. Hands clenching in frustration, he stepped forward, as Scar helped Grisly to his feet. "This wasn't my fault!" He protested. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the two pirates exiting hastily at the mention of guards. "These guys attacked us... we were just defending ourselves!" Trev continued as the other two found their way to the door as well, having suddenly lost interest in the fight. "We told them we didn't want to fight, but they wouldn't take no for an answer!"

"You," The owner turned his glare toward Trev, "are fired. Get out, and don't come back here again. I warned you before about fighting... I even gave you a second chance. That's twice now you've brought trouble here, and I don't want it coming back. Out, now!"

Trev stared at him for a second, momentarily stunned to hear this. Fired? He had been warned, yes. He had also tried very hard to refrain from fighting, because of that warning. But what was he supposed to do, just let those guys beat him senseless, drag him off to the pirates, maybe kill him if that's what they had in mind, and not lift a finger to stop them?

And what about Macardil, should he have let him try to fight all four of those guys on his own, simply because he wasn't supposed to fight? That was absurd. "I didn't start that fight," Trev tried one last time, making an effort to stay calm.

"I don't care who started it! The fact is, it happened because of you, and you were involved. And now you're fired. So, get out!" He was clearly out of patience, and had no interest in hearing any more protests. "And you too!" He ordered Macardil, who seemed to have been helping Trev get into trouble.

Trev realized what this meant. Not just the fact he was without a job. Or a place to sleep. That was upsetting, but nowhere near as upsetting as other the threat that the man had made last time; that if Trev got caught up in another fight, he not only fire him, but would claim anything that was left in his room and sell it to pay for the damages. Shoot! He had to get to that room before the owner had a chance to do anything of the sort! But he couldn't go down the hallway, or it might remind the man of his intention to do so.

With the urgency of his mission in mind, Trevadir put aside all other thoughts as he rushed out the door, not even considering the possibility that those men might be waiting just outside the door. To all appearances, it would seem that the young man had become overwhelmed by frustration and anger at this last straw, and stormed out of the tavern without a word.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

"Enough is right!"

Ahh. It seemed like the owner had finally realized something was amiss. And he was very displeased with the proceedings. Macardil faced the man's glare without looking remorseful. He had done nothing wrong, had made it clear he did not want to be part of the fight, and instead had gone through more trouble than necessary in order not to harm his attackers. The order to leave did not feel like a rebuke, since he had been planning on leaving already.

Trevadir seemed to have more trouble accepting the owner's words. Given that he worked for the man, that was very understandable. Macardil noticed the deckhands leaving, soon followed by his own attackers, as Trevadir went against the owner and tried to defend himself. This time, verbally.

It was clear the owner had no interest in hearing what Trevadir had to say. Macardil felt sorry for the young man, as well as for his own part in what had happened. If he had not entered the tavern, perhaps things would have turned out much better for the young flute player. He closed his eyes when he heard the words which sealed Trevadir's fate. The flutist was out of work.

Apparently it was the second time Trevadir had gotten involved in trouble. A different man than Macardil might have thought that where there was smoke there was fire, but he had been in enough situations himself where he knew that it had not been his doing or intent. He instinctively gave Trevadir the benefit of believing he was not to blame for the time before, either.

When the owner once again ordered to get out, this time directly addressing Macardil as well instead of aiming his barked order at a larger group, Macardil nodded sullenly. Yes, yes. He would leave the tavern. But not Trevadir.

Trevadir, however, suddenly rushed out of the front door to the tavern. Alarmed, Macardil swiftly followed him out. If those men were outside...

The crisper evening air greeted him as the door closed behind him. There were no men. Trevadir was hurrying alongside the wall of the tavern. Macardil followed quietly. He was not about to leave, not yet. Not without making sure Trevadir would be alright.

@Arnyn
Flute gripped in one hand, Trev stopped outside the window that was his. On the second floor. That wouldn't be much of a problem for him, considering all the years he used to climb out of his bedroom window at home, either to avoid something his grandma wanted him to do, or to avoid his little brother. Or even to sneak out to play without asking permission. Not to mention how his work aboard a ship had strengthened such skills in these latter few years. The building was made of stone, like most places in Gondor.. whose name literally meant 'land of stone'. The builder hadn't been worried about infiltration attempts, clearly, for there were plenty of places where one might get a hand or foot hold where stone met stone, and mortar joined the two. He looked up, glanced at the flute, and tucked it into his belt before reaching up to grab a handhold of the stones making up the wall.

Just then, he caught a motion in his peripheral vision. Someone was approaching! Slightly alarmed, Trev glanced over, then relaxed. It was only Macardil. But, the fact he was trying to climb the wall probably looked a bit strange, Trev realized, and let go. "I have to get to my room," He explained, in case the man was wondering. He pointed to the upstairs window that was slightly open. "If I don't get in there quick, he's going to claim all my stuff and sell it.. he told me before that he'd do it." There was no way he was going to let that happen. The longer he waited, the more risk there was of losing what little he owned. "The clothes and stuff I don't care that much about, but... there's something irreplaceable that I can't lose, so I have to hurry before he remembers..." He added in further explanation, to make him understand why Trev was in such a hurry. "I won't be long."

Without waiting to find out whether Macardil would disagree with his method of retrieving his belongings or not, Trev swiftly climbed up to the window with all the skill of one who was well practiced at just that sort of thing. Since he'd left the window partly open to let in fresh air, it posed no obstacle to him as he entered the room nimbly and paused to take a look around. The dagger was safely hidden under the mattress. Retrieving it from its hiding place, he slid the blade into the end of the flute, and gave it a twist to lock it into place. His main mission accomplished, Trev breathed easier as he took a moment to grab some other things, as long as he was here. Sure, he could replace the rest of the stuff easily enough, but why should he, if he didn't have to?

A bundle of papers were scooped up from the desk, straightened as quickly as he could, and placed inside an empty potato sack. A few items of clothing followed, along with a few miscellaneous items he'd acquired, or carried with him. A blanket filled up the rest of the space in the sack. And then he was finished. A few months' worth of living in this place wrapped up into a sack in under a minute.

It wasn't long before he poked his head back out of the window, checking the area below. He saw only Macardil down there, still. He tossed the sack down, making sure it would land clear of the man below, and then followed it more slowly, using the stones again for handholds. "There." He sighed as he jumped down the last couple of feet. "Now, I don't care what he does." Trev paused, turning then to Macardil. "I'm really sorry I brought all that trouble on you." He really felt bad about how it all turned out. Macardil had only come in to hear his playing, and then had gotten into a fight, been insulted, accused of things, and finally kicked out of the place. All because of Trev.

"You're bleeding," Trev realized a moment later, frowning as he noticed the man's sleeve. Another thing that was his fault, no doubt.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

Trevadir's words explained what he was doing well enough. Macardil nodded. Terrible boss, he thought to himself as he watched the young man climbing the wall.

Soon, a bag dropped to the stones next to his feet. His eyes were drawn to it, and he saw it wasn't so much a bag as it was a sack. The sack's owner followed quickly enough. When Trevadir said he was sorry to bring trouble on him, Macardil wasn't sure whether he could appreciate the irony.

"At first I thought I had brought all that trouble on you," he said quietly. "But now I believe that we each brought our own trouble, this evening. Do not take the blame on yourself, Trevadir. Those two who came after me, wanted me for my past. Not yours."

The flutist's next words brought a frown to his face. What? He followed Trevadir's gaze down to his sleeve. Through his black shirt, a vertical wet line was visible. "Oh." That must have happened while he was getting the knife away from his assailants that second time. The adrenaline was still masking the wound, but that would soon change, he knew. Judging from the way his sleeve looked, it couldn't be too serious.

Then he noticed something about Trevadir in turn. He hadn't seen it in the tavern, with the dark color of the young man's shirt, the bigger distance between them and all the excitement.

"Well," Macardil said soberly, "so are you."

@Arnyn
Trev was briefly confused to hear that he was also bleeding. Instinctively, he reached a hand up to feel the place where he'd been hit in the eye, since that was where he hurt most, but as he raised his hand, his gaze landed on the splotch of wetness on his upper arm, under. It might have been sweat except it was lower than where sweat would have been, and there was no matching place on the other arm. "So I am.." He acknowledged, turning his arm over to get a better look at the underside where the blood stained his sleeve. The cut must have come from that bottle, when he trapped Scar's hand with his arm.

While he was looking at his arm, he also happened to notice that his wrist looked pretty red, presumably from where he had used it to absorb at least half of that elbow blow; otherwise, his eye might have been far worse. As it was, he figured he'd be feeling the wrist a lot more in the morning, or in a few hours most likely. It looked like it would bruise and swell, but he tried not to worry about that. The cut was more worrisome, considering it was bleeding. It didn't look bad, and he hadn't even felt it, but it might have been close to some important artery that Cali's mother had once told them was in the arm, but he couldn't quite remember where she said that was.

"I suppose maybe we should do something about that, huh?" He glanced up at Macardil and smiled faintly. Grabbing his sack of belongings up from the ground, Trev tried not to think too much about the fact he had lost more than a job, but a place to sleep as well. Right now, he was trying to figure out where they might be able to get their wounds tended. He had no bandages, and couldn't really think of anywhere around here that could help. And he couldn't go to the houses of healing, since that was in Minas Tirith. He frowned at the wound, gently pulling the sleeve in search of where he was cut, but became confused when he couldn't find anywhere on his arm that the blood had come from. That didn't make any sense.

Letting his thoughts drift back to what Macardil had said, about his past drawing half the trouble. "Hm... I know how Scar and Grisly found me, that isn't hard to figure out. I guess it was coincidence that those other two happened to be there, since they wouldn't have known you'd end up there." He remarked thoughtfully, wondering if it had been their introducing themselves that drew those two men's attention. "Unless they were following you," He added as an afterthought, glancing at the other man with some curiosity. Whatever their problem with him might be, Trev found it hard to believe this guy would do anything to warrant such hostility. Then, he recalled that they'd said something about rangers. Perhaps they were involved in something he had helped put a stop to... that sounded reasonable. "Are you a ranger?" He wondered, a bit tentatively. "I thought I heard them say something about rangers... and you fight like you've had plenty of training, like the rangers do..."

Arkadhur was more accustomed to coercion with the advantage of leverage. Alas that there was no time enough to pander to them with carefully applied untruths. There was nothing that he possessed that these girls could want for, save for their own preservation, presumably. That drove the Umbarian to employ the bloodied ropes and brandish the dagger, when he usually would not sully his hands with such ‘props’. But they certainly evoked an impact on his hostages. The one girl fainted and the other seemed entranced, by the blade, as much as she seemed repulsed by the ropes. He could work with that.

She did not immediately comply though, for all the look of wonder and horror in her eyes at her predicament. Perhaps he had struck her too hard in the head .. But she had at least been talking not so long before, asking her pointless questions. Perhaps she did not like the answers and had ceased with even arguing, lest she be served some more.


But no. After a rather sorry attempt at even getting to her feet, Cali voiced her refusal. She frowned, and so did he, for she was unfortunately making sense. He ought to maybe try and pick her up himself, hoist her over his shoulder and deposit her in the barrel. But this was not the usual body he could expect to simply obey. This was a living, no doubt wriggling, potentially kicking and screaming young woman. He hesitated, and especially when she advised he’d have to loose her hands, for her to manage the act.

Cursing inwardly, Arkadhur toyed with the dagger as he considered the chances this would be so simple. He sincerely doubted it.
“Come now, you haven’t even tried,” he pointed out, unimpressed. But on properly examining the scene, he saw the odds of failure were extremely high. Unless she were a contortionist, which seemed unlikely. “You will do as I say,” he rallied, but not without reason. “I shall bind your hands in front of you, and we’ll have no more of this nonsense.”


Glancing a wary eye toward a still Iole, their abductor approached Cali slowly, and twirled his index finger to instruct her to turn around. Once she was facing the barrel, rather than him, he brought the dagger to where her hands had been tied behind her. Tied too well, as it turned out, for it took some time to sever the ropes. They were too secure to untangle from the knot he’d been so proud of, not so long before. But he made certain to allow the blade to touch her skin more than once, during the liberation. For she ought not forget what he held in hand.

The unexpected ‘gift’ had turned out to be useful after all.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

Macardil watched the young man trying to make sense of where the blood was coming from. It didn't seem like he was finding anything on his arm. He smiled faintly, despite the severity of the situation. It did not sit right with him, though, that it seemed like Trevadir had not only lost his job, but the roof over his head. While Macardil knew that responsibility lay on the shoulders of those who had attacked them, he still felt partially responsible for the flutist's current situation. If he had not entered the tavern and had not bought Trevadir a drink, the flutist might have simply stayed near the stage and it would have been a bigger step to take for those deckhands to attack him.

Apparently, the deckhands were called Scar and Grisly. The former ranger frowned slightly at the small grains of information Trevadir was dropping. "They were not following me," he said, with a certainty that would tell anyone who was listening for it that this was a man who knew when he was or was not followed. Amusement lit his eyes at the young man's last comment. "You fight like you've had plenty of training, as well, Trevadir. Are you a ranger?"

He held back a sigh. "I used to be," he said. "I'm not sure who they are. I remember seeing their faces around Harlond before, but I cannot place them more specifically. They might have seen me come through under armed escort about a year ago. And even though my name has been cleared by the King, such tidings travel less fast than the initial judgment. Not as sensational, I suppose. From time to time that catches up with me."

Macardil gestured for Trevadir's arm. When the young man held it out, Macardil lifted it some more to look at the blood stain, and then nodded toward the side of his torso. "Looks like the wound's on the side of your ribs instead of your arm. And I agree, we should do something about that." He unceremoniously lifted Trevadir's shirt to take a quick look. "It's not severe," he concluded swiftly, pulling the fabric back down and letting go of Trev's arm. "But we need to clean it up and put some pressure on it with a bandage. You'll also need stitches, the cut is too long to my liking to leave as is." He might need a few stitches himself, he realized. Pulling up his sleeve, he took a look at the cut on his own arm. "We will both be needing stitches. I can do it, but we need supplies."

"Do you know anyone around here who could help us out with what we need?" He judged Trevadir's expression for a moment. "I have all we need at my abode, but then we would need to go to Minas Tirith." He considered the fact the flutist had nowhere to stay. Macardil wanted to help, but imagined the young man might not be eager to accept too much charity. That was often the case with the young who took some pride in themselves. "Or we could try an inn here in Harlond. They would have the supplies we need, and in one of their rooms we would not bother anyone with a more delicate disposition." Macardil's blue eyes scanned their surroundings briefly before returning to Trevadir. "I need my arm looked at just as much as you need your side looked at," he said pre-emtively, to avoid much protest.

Pele with Nell, Mourgan and the Guard
Trying to find some freedom
Out the gate and setting off across the Pelennor
Wild Goose Chase
@Isolde Alarion

"Sure, the gate it is - don't think we'd be able to gallop through either way," Pele responded. "But the problem is that geese don't have to stop to be let through, so we might lose them."

A glance up at the birds high in the sky, a glance back at Mourgan and her guard who attempted to keep up with them, a grin at Nell, and then Pele pressed herself against Temper's neck and closed her eyes for just a few moments. Having closed the world out just for a little while, she could feel the movement of the horse's muscles as he ran, the wind whistling by her, honking of the geese in the distance. A quiet smile rested on Pele's face, when she sat up again and looked ahead towards the approaching Rammas Echor and gate within it.

It seemed that there was only a handful of people, as far as she could see, and it promised a quick passing through. "Ah, look! I think we won't lose overly much to those geese," she said joyfully. "Not that many people crowding there."

@Arnyn
Macardil's question brought a small grin to Trev's face. To think of anyone asking him if he's a ranger... it was unexpected, but more of a compliment than one might realize. "I was taught by a ranger." Trev answered, explaining with a small shrug. "One of my best friends.." He added softly, the smile fading in favor of a hint of sadness, but he put that aside. "My other best friend is also a ranger," he answered thoughtfully, tilting his head curiously at the man. Used to be? Armed escort.. then cleared by the King..? Interesting puzzle pieces... he was curious, but also figured it would be rude to ask too much. And if the guy was cleared by the king himself, well then surely whatever crime he was accused of, he must have been found innocent of. Maybe he was framed, or something like that.

Trev held his arm out and waited patiently as his wound was checked. Learning that it was actually his side, not his arm, that was bleeding, Trev realized that made sense. Considering the eye closest to his wounded side was already fairly swollen, it explained why he'd had trouble seeing the blood on his side. To hear that he would need stitches brought a small cringe from the young man. That sounded like it was more serious than he had hoped. Sure, not as serious as it could have been, but still. Stitches? He sighed. "The shops'll be closed by now," He decided with a glance around, noting it was late enough that shops would have closed by now. "All I can tell you is what places it's best to stay away from," He answered apologetically.

At the mention of possibly going to Minas Tirith, Trev shook his head immediately, his non-bruised eye widening slightly with alarm. Then, realizing such a reaction might draw questions he didn't want to answer, he regretted reacting so automatically, and looked down. "I.. can't go there." He mumbled, hoping to avoid any further questions. "An inn oughta work, I guess." He glanced up again. "I'm not too familiar with any besides this one, though. I'm sure any of them are better than the Siren..." He cast a disgusted look toward the place he had previously worked. "I hated being here. But it was the only place that would hire me for my musical skills," He mentioned with a sigh. "I dunno what I'm gonna do now. I'll figure something out, though," He added, trying to cover up the disappointment that had slipped into his tone a moment ago, trying to make it sound like the loss of such a job was no big deal to him.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond, The Siren's Embrace Tavern

Trevadir's reaction to the mere mention of the White City was not normal. Macardil did him the courtesy of letting it be for the moment, however, given that Trevadir had given him the courtesy of not asking any further questions about no longer being a ranger and having to be pardoned by the King.

"Then an inn it is," Macardil nodded. He wouldn't be leaving his mare in the Siren's stable in any case. "I'll get my horse from the stable first. Wait for me on the street?"
Macardil swiftly settled matters with the stablehand, and with a smile and gentle touch he walked his black mare out to where the flutist was waiting. "If it fits, you can put your sack into one of the saddle bags," Macardil offered. "Or we can attach it, perhaps." He looked out onto the street. There seemed to be no trace of their earlier attackers. "I know there's an inn about a mile from here. We could give that place a try."

While Macardil was not opposed to silence, he figured Trevadir might not have the same disposition. Most people did not. He glanced at the young man as they walked. "The Siren was the only place in Harlond that would hire you to play?" he asked. "If so, I assume there is something keeping you here? Even though Minas Tirith itself is... not an option, surely there are other places in Gondor you could try?"

@Arnyn
"Sure," Trev agreed, when Macardil asked him to wait. He kept a sharp eye out for any sign of the troublemakers, but thankfully they were nowhere to be seen. It didn't take long before Macardil and his horse emerged. It was a beautiful horse, though Trev wasn't all that fond of horses. Glancing down at the sack in his hand, he hesitated. "It's not that heavy," He answered after a moment with a small shrug. He felt a small twinge of guilt for that instinctive reluctance to turn over his stuff to the saddlebag, but it had become a habit by now not to entrust his belongings with anyone. Even though the guy had been quite nice, and was a former ranger.

This inn that Macardil knew of, Trevadir hoped it would be completely void of pirates and that sort, but he didn't comment. Given the man's former profession, it seemed unlikely there would be any criminal sorts hanging around the same place. That was refreshing. As they walked, Trev kept a hand lightly touching his flute, mostly to reassure himself it didn't slip out of his belt, but also just in case there might be someone waiting along the way to ambush them. He'd heard plenty about ambushes, and had no desire to be the victim of one. Macardil's question caught him a bit off guard, and he glanced over at him, and shrugged. "Yeah. Other places said they already had musicians, or they didn't have a need for one, or they didn't hire musicians... and so on." He explained, but went quiet for a moment as he considered the latter part of his question.

"Sure, there's other places." He answered with a slow nod. "But, it's.. I just..." He struggled for a moment to find the right way of putting it, and finally heaved a sigh, frowning down at the ground just ahead of him. "I want to go home. More than anything... I want to go home, but I can't." Surprised at himself for the raw honesty of his answer, Trev paused as the last word sounded suspiciously close to breaking with all the emotion packed into his voice.

Pausing for a moment in his stride, he glanced, in the direction of Minas Tirith, with longing, before dropping his head down again. His throat seemed to swell up the same as his eye, preventing him from saying anything for a moment. After a slow, deep breath, he cleared his throat. "So. This is.. as close as I can get. It's... complicated." He mumbled this last part, a bit embarrassed for that brief show of emotion.

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond

So Trevadir wanted to go to Minas Tirith, but could not. Macardil noted the wistful gaze but pretended not to. In fact, he seemed to be oblivious of the flutist's show of emotion altogether as he hummed pensively. "You know. I could not leave my cell." He paused as they turned a corner. "But all it took, in the end, was one person who believed in me." He gave Trevadir a sideways glance. "And everything changed."

Upon their arrival at the inn, Macardil first stabled his mare and then the two men went inside. "Let me do the talking?" Macardil asked quietly before they drew up to a man behind the bar. Macardil spoke with the man without hesitation, making the arrangements with a calm kind of confidence and a bearing that earned him much politeness. They had a room, and a key. Two bowls of stew, water and the requested supplies would be brought up for them. As quickly as possible, the owner promised them.

Macardil thanked him kindly and looked at his companion. "I wasn't sure whether or not you had eaten, but an inn tends to appreciate customers more when they use all the services they have to offer," he said. "Besides, if their cook hasn't changed, their stew is excellent."

@Arnyn
Trevadir shrugged slightly as Macardil spoke about how someone had believed in him, and made a difference in his situation. All well and fine for him, but he didn't have people looking to kill him, right? Well, maybe those guys here, but probably no one in Minas Tirith. Either way Trev went, he couldn't see how his situation could change in any way but worse. He took a slow inhale, pushing away the emotional tide, frowning slightly. "Yeah, sure, but you didn't..." The rest of that sentence died as the key word registered in his ears. Cell. Trev paused to look at the man in surprise. "Your.. cell?" That was indeed different... and he was highly curious now. But was it rude to ask about that? "Sorry, I.. won't ask." He mumbled, deciding to refrain from any questions for the time being, despite wondering.

He kept quiet the rest of the walk. The words echoed in his ears along with some questions. His cell... so Macardil had been imprisoned. He recalled the man saying something about a pardon. So whatever he'd been arrested for, he got a pardon. Because someone believed in him? Because he had a friend? Trev thought about the recent midsummer event. Iole and Cali had still believed in him, still considered him a close friend...they had covered for him. He and Nal were, at least, no longer angry at each other, or so he thought.. but he wasn't sure exactly what Nal thought of him, anymore. He'd helped cover for him when the guard was there, but.. he couldn't help feeling like maybe Nal still didn't really trust him, or believe what he had told him. And that still stung a little. How could Trevadir hope to return to his former life, if even his best friend was suspicious of him? How could he expect anyone to believe him about anything, if his best friend didn't?

After a little while they arrived at the inn. Trev was still deep in thought while he waited for Macardil to take care of his horse, and gave a brief nod as he asked to do the talking. It was somewhat impressive to hear him talk, like he was just a natural 'take charge' kind of guy. Trev suddenly found himself reminded of someone else who had been like that.. maybe not the same way, but.. Ryn definitely knew how to take the lead in any situation. It was a bittersweet recollection, and his hand automatically pressed the flute against his side, as if that would keep the memory close. A faint smile tugged at one side of his mouth as he tried to imagine what might have happened if his late friend had been here. What he would say, what he would do, how that fight might have gone differently, and so on.

He withdrew from his thoughtful reflections as Macardil addressed him again, on the way to the room. "I haven't," Trev admitted. In fact, he was quite hungry. The ale would have been a nice refreshment during his break, and then he would have played for a while longer and eventually had a meal later on when his evening was wrapping up. Unfortunately, he hadn't even had that.

Taking a look around the room as they arrived, he suddenly became all-too conscious of his lack of money, yet it occurred to him he ought to split the cost of this place with Macardil, seeing as it was partly his own fault and everything. "I don't have a lot of money.. but I'll help as much as I can with this," He mentioned, with a slightly hesitant warning concerning how little he might be able to help. Seeing as he'd gotten kicked out of the Siren before getting paid for the evening's work, he knew that he might as well forget about that. So he had only what money was in his pouch, saved up from the last few weeks. It should be enough to at least pay for a bowl of stew, of course, but he realized that he also had to think about the next few days. Possibly longer, depending on how long it took to find another job...

@Rillewen


Macardil
Harlond
After midsummer

Macardil was suddenly rather glad he had ordered the stew. His walk and the fight had left him hungry, and if Trevadir had not yet eaten, he must be getting hungry as well. The evening was well underway, and playing an instrument could really wet the appetite, he knew.

Trevadir's talk of money was expected. Macardil had already thought about it on their way to the inn. If Trevadir had been getting room and board at the tavern he played at, he wouldn't be making much extra coin on top of that. And now the young man was left without a job, without a roof over his head and without a kitchen to provide steady meals. Macardil was not expecting Trevadir to pay for anything. He would rather that the flutist kept what money he might have saved, for himself. To hear it confirmed that Trevadir did not have much, Macardil's resolve was strengthened.

"I would not have you pay for your meal or the room," he said slowly as he took off his cloak and hooked it on a peg on the wall. "You hardly have any coin and I have more than I spend. I suspect, however, it's a matter of principle that you don't want me to just pay for you. So I will agree that you repay me in some way, some day. When you can. And whether it's in coin or not, we can decide then. To be clear, I won't ask you to do me a favor you don't want to." Macardil sat down on one of two chairs on either end of a table against the wall. "Agreeable terms?"

As he lit the candles around the room, a knock came on the door. "The supplies you asked for, sir. And the drinks."

"Good," Macardil mumbled. "Come in."

A young man about Trevadir's age entered with a platter that held a pitcher of water, a pitcher of ale, and two mugs. The first aid supplies Macardil has asked for, were stored in a small box and a satchel.

"You can leave it on the table," Macardil instructed with a kind voice. "Thank you."

"The stew will be up shortly, good sirs." And without further ado, the young man left the room.

Macardil held back a sigh and sat down on one of the two chairs on either end of a table against the wall. He opened the box and laid out the contents - the same with the small satchel. Then he rolled up his sleeve and took a closer look at the cut on his arm, before looking back at Trevadir. "I should probably look at your wound first." He would rather do stitches on someone else first, with a steady hand.

@Arnyn
Macardil's response was unexpected. Trevadir stood for a moment in silence, thinking carefully about what he had said. Repay him someday.. but he wouldn't ask a favor Trev didn't want to do... That last bit did offer some amount of reassurance, yet he still took his time sorting through his thoughts. Given the type of people that had been his "peers" for the last five years, Trevadir instinctively felt suspicious of anyone asking him to just 'owe them one'. But Macardil wasn't a pirate. He was a former ranger. That was definitely one thing in his favor. But then again, he had been arrested for something. But then, he'd been pardoned. Trev found his thoughts racing in circles on that subject. And yet again, he realized that just because someone's a ranger didn't automatically mean they're a wonderful, honorable person.

But there was also a sense that he got from Macardil, that he was not the sort of person to trap someone into doing something they disagreed with. He felt torn. He knew he would have to learn to trust people again at some point, if he had any hope of returning to the life he once had. Yet, at the same time, he didn't want to disregard the lessons he'd learned from his youthful naïvety. There must be some middle ground he could find, between the gullible, eager boy who had run off to have adventures with a father he didn't even know, and the young man who was afraid to trust anyone for fear of being tricked again, and trapped into things he didn't like...

Watching the other young man leave after delivering the supplies, Trev took a deep breath before coming over to the table. He'd just have to use his judgement, as best as he could. And in the short time he had known Macardil, he had not shown any sign of being a plotting, manipulative, deceitful kind of person. Not that he'd had any sort of indication about that with his father, before, but... he had learned quite a bit since then. Still, Macardil had only seemed friendly and kind.. and Trev hadn't missed the fact that he hadn't left Trev to deal with those guys alone. That seemed like someone worth trusting. "I guess I can agree to that," He answered finally, once the inn employee had gone.

Putting his sack of belongings on the floor, he carefully set his flute on the table, making sure it wouldn't start rolling. An observant person could notice that it was a few inches longer now, and the formerly open end was closed now, due to the dagger now being sheathed inside. "I don't know a lot about tending wounds, so I'm not sure how much I can help you in return with that," He mentioned regretfully as he carefully, and somewhat reluctantly, removed his shirt so that Macardil could take a look at his wound. He was a bit uncomfortable with revealing all the little scars on his sides, but hoped that it wouldn't be too terribly noticeable.

As for his new wound, the adrenaline had faded by now, and the pain was much more noticeable already. He winced slightly as he moved a certain way, and tossed the shirt over beside his pack, then pulled up the other chair and took a seat so Macardil could do what he needed to do.